Knowing
by YellowBoots
Summary: Richard & Emily unexpectedly cancel dinner, Rory unexpectedly invites them to Luke's, Lorelai unexpectedly does something unexpected and Luke's on the receiving end of most of it. LL!
1. Ducks and Ducking

**A/N 1:** First and most importantly, this is for all of the fantastic fan-fictioners who said such lovely things about my first story _Snow, Balls_. I debated with myself for a long time over whether I should post my stories, and your response has really encouraged me. You like me, you really like me! So all future literary attempts on my part are now exclusively your fault.

**A/N 2:**_ Knowing_ is set in Season 3 sometime after "A Tale of Poes and Fire" and sometime before "Those Are Strings, Pinocchio." (That really narrows it down for ya, doesn't it?) I had to make a couple of plot changes to make the story fit (hey, this is fanfic, we can do that) so be aware that 1) Jess has already left for California and 2) Luke dated Nicole for awhile, but it all fizzled out- she was one of those disappearing dates of 2003, not unlike Alex.

**A/N 3:** I didn't post this as I finished writing each chapter, because I was scared to death of _not_ finishing it and leaving an uncompleted fic gasping around in cyberspace, dying a slow and painful death. So here it is, the COMPLETE story. The whole package, if you will- minus Dan Quayle and the matching jogging suits, because who wants that, really? Besides Mimi.

**warningwarning **this story bears an alarming resemblance to Disney's "Lilo and Stitch"- as in, oh-so-cute-and-**fluffy**!- so diabetics beware...

* * *

**Ducks and Ducking**

Rory Gilmore heard voices.

Loud voices, raised in anger, coming from just the other side of her grandparents' enormous oak front door. Rory told herself it was ethically wrong to listen to other people's conversations when they didn't know you were doing it- well, sure, but that had never stopped her before- and she figured it was better to eavesdrop now if it would help her figure out what catastrophe she was about to walk into. Call it a self-preservation instinct, or something. She already knew that her mother and grandmother were fighting- it wouldn't be a Friday night dinner without a Lorelai vs. Emily sparring match, and this one sounded like it was gearing up to be at least ten rounds.

"I don't know how you can be so irresponsible, Lorelai," Emily's voice dripped with more condescension than she'd probably intended. Whatever she said to her daughter usually came out wrong.

"That's a good one, Mom, I'm irresponsible," Lorelai responded sarcastically. "Makes me wonder how Rory survived to adulthood, how the Inn runs itself, how my bills get paid on time-" she cut herself off abruptly. That last one was much too open to Emily-interpretation. She crossed her fingers that her mother hadn't noticed her slip, but Emily pounced.

"Your bills get paid on time?" she demanded imperiously. "And who do you think helps you to pay those bills? Who helps you with Rory's tuition?" she almost smiled, smugly.

On the other side of the door Rory winced. That remark was not going to go down well; Lorelai hated being reminded of her obligation to her parents, and when Emily brought it up she was sure to say something she would heartily regret.

Lorelai threw her hands up in the air in complete frustration. "You know, Mom, sometimes you can really be a first-class bi-"

Rory gasped and rang the doorbell loudly before her mother could finish her sentence. Stone silence descended, and Rory waited uncomfortably for a brief moment before the door swung open. Emily and Lorelai stared at her, Emily with a kind of relief. Lorelai just smiled sheepishly at her daughter; she knew that the doorbell ringing at that exact instant had not been a coincidence.

"Hey, hon," she greeted her, willing herself to calm down. "How was the drive?"

"Not too bad," Rory answered as she stepped inside and shrugged out of her coat. Emily took it from her silently and hung it on the rack. "The bus driver made a wrong turn and took twenty minutes to figure out that he'd made a wrong turn, so I got the scenic tour of Hartford." Awkwardly she kissed her grandmother's cheek. "Hi, Grandma." She smiled sweetly, which usually cracked Emily's exterior. It still worked.

"Hello, Rory dear," Emily answered, all arguments with Lorelai forgotten. "Come on into the living room, your Grandfather should be finished with his phone call by now."

As she led them through the foyer Rory noticed something different. "Is that a new painting, Grandma?" she asked. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is new, and thank you for noticing," Emily beamed.

Lorelai poked Rory from behind. "Suck-up," she whispered teasingly.

Rory poked her back. "Troublemaker," she responded.

"Good evening, girls," Richard greeted them as they trailed into the room behind Emily. Both of them shut up and tried to look well-behaved. "What would you like to drink?"

"Whatever you have, Dad, and make it a double," Lorelai answered wearily, remembering the earlier scene with her mother.

"Charming," Emily couldn't help but comment.

"Thank you," Lorelai replied rebelliously. "I _am_ known in bars all over Connecticut for my charming ability to order the bubbly."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"I'll have a soda, please," Rory said quickly before the elder two Gilmore girls could get going again. She seated herself next to her mother on the sofa. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment, until Richard broke it the way he usually did.

"So, Rory," he began. "How's school?"

* * *

Lorelai glanced at the clock on the dining room mantel out of the corner of her eye for the twenty-second time during dessert. This dinner seemed to be taking even longer than previous ones, and some of those had been real doozies. She amused herself by seeing how many times she could make a face at Rory across the table, without her parents noticing, before Rory laughed. She'd only got to two- Rory wasn't very good at this game. 

"Before you go," Emily announced suddenly. Lorelai's head snapped up guiltily; luckily she remembered to uncross her eyes before she looked at her mother.

"Before we go where?" she asked in confusion. She hadn't been paying any attention to the conversation and she figured she'd missed something.

"Before you go home, of course," Emily said impatiently, sounding like she was talking to an inattentive child- which, Lorelai had to admit, she kind of was. Emily was staring at her, which made Lorelai extremely uncomfortable.

She prodded her mother, "Before we go home what?"

To both Rory and Lorelai's surprise, Emily looked reluctant to finish her sentence. This was highly unusual; Emily was normally very happy to finish her sentences, or anyone else's, for that matter. Lorelai's blue eyes took on a wicked gleam. Her mother was having difficulty telling her something! Emily was not known for tact, so it wasn't as if she was trying to decide how to phrase…whatever it was…delicately. For a brief moment Lorelai wondered if Emily was feeling the same way she had herself just before she told her parents about Rory's burgeoning existence, then dismissed that thought. It was impossible.

"Before you go," Emily continued reluctantly, "I wanted to tell you that your father and I won't be able to make Friday night dinner next week."

Rory's mouth dropped open. Her grandparents had rarely, if ever, cancelled a dinner, not in the three years that they'd had the arrangement. Lorelai tried to control her glee- she was going to give her mother such crap about this, she didn't even know where to start.

"I'm afraid that's not okay, Mom," she said, overly serious. "I think the only reason you should get out of dinner is if it's an emergency. Is it an emergency?"

"No," Emily forced herself to admit it.

"Noooo," Lorelai repeated happily. "Well, if it's not an emergency, then I'm afraid you're going to have to cancel your previous plans."

"Mom," Rory started to protest. Lorelai was having entirely too much fun with this, and Emily was starting to squirm- which, of course, was more than half the fun for Lorelai.

"It's a benefit dinner, Lorelai, and we can't get out of it," Emily snapped. "I didn't choose the date, but I have to show up because I haven't been to one of these events in weeks."

"I'm sure they can benefit without you there," Lorelai said superciliously. She was especially pleased with herself because she'd been able to work in a little jab that her mother probably wouldn't even notice, and if she did she could hardly get in trouble because Emily was the one who'd said 'benefit' in the first place. And why shouldn't she give her mother a hard time about this? Why shouldn't she, when Emily had thrown such an all-mighty fuss whenever Rory wanted to miss dinner because of an anniversary with Dean, or Lorelai had a date? Let Emily experience for once what it was like to have to organize her social schedule around an appointment so inflexible it was like it was encased in concrete. And for a moment, Emily looked like she might actually cave in and cancel whatever benefit they were going to. Save the Butterflies, or Raise Money for Rich People or something. But then Richard stepped in to take control of the situation. He didn't like seeing Lorelai manipulate her mother that way, and he was going to put an end to it.

"We are not canceling our plans, Lorelai," he said firmly, in a tone that invited no discussion. "We purchased our tickets several weeks ago and a lot of people are expecting us to be there. I'm sorry, but next week's dinner is cancelled because we'll be in Naugatuck."

"Hey, that's the next town up the turnpike from Stars Hollow," Rory realized. Lorelai's head whipped around and her eyes got huge. What on earth was Rory doing?

"Hey, why don't you come to our house next week for dinner instead?" Lorelai's treacherous offspring suggested. _That's_ what Rory was doing. Lorelai kicked Rory under the table, but her subtle signal was lost when Rory complained, "Ow, Mom, watch it! I don't want to play footsie with you right now."

"What's the matter, Lorelai?" Emily asked, too-politely. "I thought you were so upset at the thought of missing Friday night dinner."

"Oh, I'm heartbroken," Lorelai muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?" Emily goaded, ready to get her own back.

"I said…that will be smokin'," Lorelai answered lamely. Emily eyed her knowingly and was about to start in on future torment when Richard interrupted again, this time to Lorelai's relief.

"That's a very kind invation, Rory, but we'll be having dinner at the benefit," he explained gently.

"Oh." For a bizarre moment Lorelai thought that Rory looked disappointed. Then she realized that Rory actually _was_ disappointed, and she fidgeted uncomfortably. Rory loved her grandparents, so it was only natural that she wanted them to come to her house for once. They hardly ever took part in her "Stars Hollow" life- which was just the way Lorelai liked it, but maybe Rory felt differently. To her credit, Lorelai thought for a long moment about extending the invitation for the week after next, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. It was too much like masochism…self-flagellation…suicide…Before her thoughts could turn any darker her daughter jumped right in and turned herself into a little homicidal maniac.

"What about the week after next?" she suggested brightly. Lorelai's inward groan was so loud she was dead certain her mother had heard it.

"The week after next?" Emily repeated blankly. "But…you always come here!"

"I know, but I thought it would be nice to have a change. It will be fun, you'll see…" her voice trailed off as she caught a glimpse of her mother's face. Boy, if looks could kill…

"Rory," Lorelai asked in a sing-song voice.

"Yes, Mom?" Rory answered timidly.

"Who's going to cook this oh-so-fun banquet?"

"I don't know…Uncle Ben? Sara Lee? Betty Crocker?" Rory suggested, trying to make a joke.

"Hmmm, that would be a good idea, except they all hate me and have vowed never to enter my house again," Lorelai explained patiently.

"Right…didn't think of that," Rory agreed reluctantly.

"You don't have to cook." Emily spoke up for the first time since the conversation had turned to ready-made meals in boxes. "We could go out."

"Out?" Lorelai repeated the word as if it was in another language. Trekkie, maybe. She'd have to ask Luke for a translation.

"Yes, out," Emily said again, impatiently. "What do you usually do for Friday night dinners?"

Lorelai had to laugh. "What do you mean, what do we usually do for Friday night dinners? We usually come here, in case you haven't noticed. I assumed you had- noticed, I mean, since you make such a big deal out of us showing up here exactly at seven every single week, but if you haven't been noticing I'll just send two look-alikes in our place next week and Rory and I will go out on the town, maybe pick up some guys, start a band, take it out on the road..."

Emily almost looked embarrassed at her mistake, but she covered it easily by turning Lorelai's words back on her. "We won't be here next week, Lorelai, I told you. We're going to Naugatuck." She looked smug.

"That's right, Naugatuck. _How_ could I forget Naugatuck?" Lorelai asked with very fake sincerity. "Naugatuck, Naugatuck, Naugatuck. Say it fast enough and it sounds like 'Not-A-Duck.'"

"This is a ridiculous conversation," Richard observed. "Obviously the two of you come here on Friday nights. What your mother meant to ask was where do you go to eat on other nights?"

"Luke's." Rory answered easily.

"Every night?" Richard looked surprised. "What about Thursdays? Where do you go on Thursdays?"

"Luke's," Lorelai echoed.

"Wednesdays?"

"Luke's," mother and daughter both answered together.

"Tuesdays?" Richard asked, increasingly incredulous.

"Oh, on _Tuesday_ nights I cook," Lorelai admitted.

"Really?" Richard sounded hopeful.

"No, we go to Luke's," Lorelai said, exasperated. "We go to Luke's for breakfast, we go to Luke's for lunch, we go to Luke's for dinner. We go to Luke's in the middle of the day for coffee, we go to Luke's in the middle of the night for coffee, and sometimes when we're feeling really wacky we even go to Luke's on weekends."

"So let's go to Luke's," Emily suggested, in a tone that meant it wasn't really a suggestion, it was already decided.

"Let's go to Lu- wait, what?" Lorelai's head was spinning. Maybe it had something to do with how many times she'd just mentioned Luke's name in a really short period of time.

"Would you like that, Rory?" Emily asked her granddaughter, and Rory knew better than to say no.

"Sure, Grandma, I love Luke's. I'll eat there anytime."

"What about your mother?" Emily continued, as if Lorelai wasn't even there, mouth opening and closing like a fish lip-synching.

"Oh, Mom loves Luke, too," Rory answered wickedly. "I mean, Mom loves _Luke's_."

Lorelai recovered enough to give Rory a "just-wait-till-we-get-home-and-you'll-wish-you-hadn't-said-that" look.

"Well, then it's settled," Richard declared. "We shall all have dinner at Luke's two weeks from today, at seven o'clock."

"I'll put it on my calendar," Emily chirped- obnoxiously, to Lorelai's ears.

"Swell," was all she could manage. She decided to ask Luke to put arsenic in her coffee tomorrow morning- and knowing him, he'd quite willingly oblige.


	2. Instruments of Hypertension

**Instruments of Hypertension**

"Coffee." Lorelai slung her purse onto the counter in Luke's the following morning and then slumped onto a stool. She'd already decided to forget the arsenic. She didn't know what arsenic tasted like, and it might ruin the coffee. Luke's coffee tasted so good, and arsenic sounded like it would taste very bad. She didn't know why she thought that; probably because she knew it was a poison, and also probably because arsenic sounded vaguely like parsnips. She _knew_ parsnips tasted bad. Parsnip-flavored coffee was a risk she was just not willing to take, even if it meant she had to sit through a Friday night dinner with her parents- at _Luke's_. That fact was having trouble sinking in to her caffeine-deprived brain.

Rory was slightly more verbose than her java junkie mother.

"Coffee, please," she requested sleepily.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Luke greeted them dryly. "Actually, it's no longer morning, so you can't have breakfast."

"_Coff_-_ee_," Lorelai repeated, slowly and loudly as if she were talking to someone who didn't speak English. And she wasn't even going to give that breakfast comment the time of day- Luke was going to make her pancakes, at 9 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon, she didn't care- even if he might.

Rory collapsed next to her mother, her head in her hands. "Tired," she groaned.

"How was dinner last night?" Luke figured he was dealing with the Saturday-morning fall-out of the Friday-night before.

"Coffee," Lorelai whimpered, giving him the full-on puppy-dog look with her brilliant blue eyes, which Luke knew very well he was completely unable to resist.

"Coming right up," he said, resigned. He wondered if there was a medical study somewhere that dealt with victims of caffeine overdose and withdrawal- he'd have a thing or two to share with those researchers. He filled two giant coffee bowls to the brim with the steaming liquid and slid them in front of Lorelai and Rory, who immediately perked up.

"Coffee!" Lorelai giggled happily. "It's perfect! It's the nectar of life! It's life-sustaining fluid! It's-"

"It's death in a cup," Luke finished for her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, no, you are so wrong, my friend," she informed him. "This is not death in a cup. Any fool could see that this is not death in a cup."

"Are you calling me a fool?" he wanted to know, but she ignored him.

"This…" she paused dramatically, "is death in a _mug_."

Luke smacked himself on the forehead in mock dismay. "Of course it is!" he exclaimed. "Thanks so much for clearing that up for me, you know, it's not the kind of mistake I'd want to make twice."

"You're so right," Lorelai said sweetly, batting her eyes at him.

"I mean, what if some customer came in here and ordered death in a mug? I wouldn't know what in hell she was talking about, it would all be very confusing, and some poor idiot wouldn't get her last wish just because I gave her death in a cup. You have quite possibly just saved someone's suicide."

"It's what I'm here for," she answered, not missing a beat. Luke had to marvel at her- not two minutes ago she'd looked like something the cat wouldn't even _want_ to drag in and now she was making witty comebacks to his nonsensical rants.

"So, some nice bran muffins to go with that coffee?" he asked innocently.

Rory made such a face it looked like she actually was in pain. "That hurts, Luke," she scolded, tapping her chest over her heart, "right here."

"Pancakes it is," he sighed. He tried one last time. "I could put fruit on the side," he offered.

Lorelai looked at him quizzically. "_Why_ would you do that?" she questioned in a shocked voice. "Just syrup," she ordered, "lots and lots and lots of syrup. Hey, you know what, just because we like you so much, we'll have _blueberry_ syrup. _That_ has fruit in it!" she announced, satisfied with her reasoning.

"Sure it does," Luke rolled his eyes. "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Lorelai raised both hands in the air. "I win!" she cried triumphantly.

_You always win_, Luke thought to himself exasperatedly, _because I always let you_. He disappeared into the kitchen to make the pancakes, leaving Lorelai and Rory to entertain themselves by watching Taylor and Kirk debate what color bunting to have at the next town festival.

"It should be yellow, Kirk, because yellow is the color of springtime, and this is a Springtime festival," Taylor explained in his usual way. If 'duh' had been in the man's vocabulary he would have used it at the end of every sentence.

"I had a bad experience with yellow in my childhood," Kirk confessed. "There was this incident with a big yellow hat that my mom made me. I've never been able to look at yellow the same way since. It's a real hardship for me, you know. I can't eat bananas."

"Bananas are fruit," Lorelai commented helpfully.

Taylor glanced up from his omelet. "Thank you for that helpful input, Lorelai," he said sarcastically. "And I suppose you have an opinion on what color our bunting should be?"

"Of course not, Taylor, because having an opinion would mean I actually _care_ what color bunting you have. Though now that I think of it, I do have a suggestion."

Taylor looked intrigued, and Rory laughed to herself in advance at what his expression was surely going to be in a few seconds, after Lorelai got through telling him whatever crazy idea she had.

"Black," Lorelai stated.

"Black?" Taylor shook his head as if he hadn't heard right. "Did you say black?"

"Sure! We've got all that black crepe paper left over from Halloween. Save some money, use it again, and plus, I think the whole, yellow-for-springtime bit is so overdone. Go with black- it's edgy, it's different, very Goth." She smiled, knowing that she'd raised Taylor's blood pressure by at least 10 points, and that all was now right with the world.

"I agree," Rory chimed in, unable to resist. It was so much fun when she and her mom joined forces- evil, but fun. "Definitely black. Oh, and what about puce balloons? Don't you think puce balloons would look festive?"

"Now you're thinkin', Lincoln," Lorelai congratulated her.

Taylor sighed loudly, pulled out his wallet to leave some money for his breakfast, and walked out the door.

Lorelai and Rory high-fived. "Wow, I think that has to be a record," Rory enthused. "Usually he sticks around long enough to lecture us."

"Yeah, I think that bit about the puce balloons really pushed him over the top," Lorelai commented admiringly.

"Quit talking about puce and eat your pancakes," Luke suddenly appeared next to them and unceremoniously served them breakfast.

"Ooh, puce and pancakes, that's alliteration," Lorelai observed ridiculously.

"Just-- shut up and eat, will ya?" he instructed, exasperated, as he refilled their coffee and headed back to the kitchen.

"Thanks Luke!" Rory yelled.

"You really know the way to a girl's heart, Luke!" Lorelai added at full volume.

"I wish," Luke muttered to himself, well out of her hearing.

* * *

"Luke's." 

She could hear the background noise from the diner over the phone line; plates clattering, a hum of conversation, Kirk singing, Luke cursing.

"Hi, it's me," she greeted him cheerfully.

"Me who?" he demanded. He knew perfectly well who 'me' was. He could recognize her voice the instant she opened her mouth, but she didn't need to know that. Well, probably she did need to know that, but he wasn't about to tell her.

"Me Lorelai," she huffed impatiently. "Come on, who else calls you up without identifying herself and then expects you to know immediately who it is?"

"Only one person I know who would be that inconsiderate," he agreed readily.

"Oh, I can feel the love," she shot back sarcastically.

"No you can't," he muttered, but she didn't hear, and he hadn't intended her to.

"What do you need, Lorelai? It's kind of busy here, you know, trying to run a business and that sort of thing…"

"I need to make a reservation," she informed him. "Ew, do you have _fleas_?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not you, Michel. He's scratching like a leper, and his damn dogs are carrying those itchy crawly little things, so of course I told him to-"

"Paw-Paw and Chin-Chin do not have fleas, I told you, they are allergic to their doggy shampoo!" Luke could make out an indignant French-accented voice in the background.

"Whatever, Michel, just don't do that in front of the guests, or I swear I'll quarantine you upstairs with no cheese."

"Lorelai…" Luke growled down the phone.

"What? Oh, sorry, Luke, just- hang on a second, 'kay?"

"No, I can't hang on a second- Lorelai! Ah, geez," he sighed, realizing he was talking to himself; she'd put the phone down and all he could hear was paper rustling, low voices, and then a loud thump that sounded suspiciously like something colliding with a Frenchman's head.

"Okay, I'm back," she said brightly. "What did you need?"

"I _need_ to know if there was another reason for you calling me, besides wanting me to hear a fascinating conversation about dogs and fleas," he grumbled impatiently.

"Oh. Oh yeah," she remembered. "Reservations. I need one."

"What?"

"Reservation, from the Greek, reservationario," she quipped. "Dates back from the two-hundred-and-fortieth century BC, meaning 'Gimme your best table for four at seven next Friday night.'"

"We don't do reservations," he sighed with exaggerated tolerance.

"Ah, but I think you'll make an exception this time," she said in her best deal-maker voice.

"And what makes you think that?" he asked with false curiosity.

"Because at seven PM next Friday night, my parents- Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde- Rory, and myself, will be enjoying our weekly Friday night dinner at your diner."

"You're kidding."

"Well, yes, of course we won't be enjoying ourselves, but actually all the rest is true."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on, Luke, I'd do it for you if your obnoxious relatives wanted to have dinner at my house," she whined, in what she hoped was a cute and endearing way.

"I don't have any obnoxious relatives-" he began, but was interrupted by a cough from the other end of the line that sounded very much like "Jess!"- "And if anyone ever wanted to have dinner at your house I'd take them straight to the nearest mental institution," he finished, drumming his fingers on the counter and glancing apologetically at the line of customers waiting to pay their checks.

"But I already told them to come!" she wailed, wishing she'd remembered to ask him when she was in the diner this morning for breakfast; she was much harder to resist in person.

He exhaled loudly in frustration, desperate to get off the phone and back to the diner.

"Okay, fine."

"Thank you, thank you! You're an angel, Luke Danes, have I ever told you that?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice," he sighed. "I've got to get back to work- I'll save you a table next Friday night."

"At seven!" she added happily, smiling as she hung up.


	3. Foot Fashions of Neanderthals

**Foot Fashions of Neanderthals**

"Rory! Hurry up, my dead grandmother moves faster than you!" Lorelai hollered from the hallway, shrugging into her jacket and looking under the pile of mail for her keys.

"Okay, a, that's a horrible thing to say since Gran's not dead, and b, how is it possible that _you_ are ready before _me_?" Rory demanded, sticking her head out of her bedroom door and hopping into the kitchen on one foot, struggling with her other shoe.

"What are you talking about?" Lorelai inquired innocently. "I'm always ready before you."

"Ha!" Rory scoffed. "_You_ are always late, for work, for lunch, for dinner, and especially for Friday night dinners at Grandma's because you don't want to go. In fact, I usually have to chase you around the house before you'll get dressed, and then I have to herd you down the stairs with an electric cattle prod just to get you out the front door. Today is Friday. It is six-thirty in the evening, which makes it night, and we are about to eat a fairly large meal, which makes it dinner. Friday plus night plus dinner equals Friday night dinner, you know. That's now."

"I know," Lorelai said in an irritated voice.

"So why are you ready?" Rory returned to the original question that she'd almost lost track of.

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Lorelai exclaimed indignantly. "I went upstairs, and my clothes jumped out of my closet and covered me with themselves, and then my hair curled itself all by itself, and my make-up smeared itself on my face even though I told it not to! I can't help it that I look so fabulous!"

And she did, Rory thought exasperatedly; in her black pants and blue sweater that made her eyes stand out even more than usual, her hair down and gently curled.

"So now you can't even dress yourself? Your clothes have to do it for you?" Rory asked, amused.

"I _can_ dress myself, Vera Wang, just this time I didn't have to. It was very futuristic, you know, like out of some science-fiction movie like…like…hey, we don't do sci-fi, I don't know any references."

"Like _Fifth Element_?" Rory suggested, making her mother turn and gape at her with eyes wide open. "You know, there's that part where the girl holds this thing up in front of her face and wham! her make-up's done…" She trailed off, mentally kicking herself for revealing this information.

"Well, aren't _you_ my little sci-fi-guy?" Lorelai said gleefully. "Quick, Captain Rory, the planet's about to explode, and, we need the, the, thing-a-majing that does the whozit and- and- light-speed!"

Rory was not impressed by her mother's mocking but quite-unimaginative-by-Lorelai-standards monologue.

"I'm not a sci-fi guy because I'm not a guy," she argued, rather obviously.

"Well, I know that- if you were a guy then you've been spending way too much money on undergarments- but you have to get with the whole rhyming thing," Lorelai instructed.

"My apologies," Rory replied sarcastically. "Hey, you know who is a sci-fi guy though, don't you?"

"Luke," Lorelai answered immediately. "Wow, I am so going to ask him about how women get dressed in the _future_!" She said the last word loudly and impressively- it seemed to call for it.

"Please, _please_ let me be there when you do," Rory begged as they finally managed to exit the house and lock the front door. Fastening her coat as she turned towards the drive, she suddenly stopped.

"Jeep. Where?" Her mother's battered old car was not parked in its usual spot.

"Jeep at Inn," Lorelai responded, equally monosyllabic, then demanded, "Why are we talking like cave-women?"

"The shock must have brought out the Neanderthal in me," Rory explained. "But don't worry, I'm all better now."

"Whew, that's a relief," Lorelai let out a breath. "'Cause I really don't think I could pull off the whole animal-skins-as-clothing thing. I don't look good in fur, and plus, if it's not machine-washable-"

"Leave it on the shelf," Rory finished, giggling. "So why is the jeep at the Inn?"

"Long story," Lorelai replied. "I had to drive Sookie home in her car this afternoon after I found out that she dislocated her shoulder last night and is not supposed to be driving or cooking for a week."

"How'd she dislocate her shoulder?" Rory asked in concern.

"Peeling potatoes," Lorelai answered easily, and in response to Rory's look of amazement, said, "Hey, this is Sookie. She could dislocate her shoulder setting the oven timer."

"This is true," Rory said in agreement. "So how are we supposed to get to Luke's?"

"Walk, biped, you got two legs hanging around somewhere, now's an excellent chance to use them," Lorelai answered, swinging her purse cheerfully as she set off down the road.

"At least Neanderthals didn't have to wear heels," Rory grumbled as she trailed along after.

* * *

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no," Lorelai gasped as they crossed the town square and Luke's diner came into view. The blinds were all drawn down, the lights were off, and the big 'Closed' sign hung on the front door. Her chant soon evolved into "Oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap," as they got closer and she noticed that Luke's big ugly green pick-up was nowhere in sight. 

"Quite an extensive vocabulary you got there," Rory commented.

"Hey, if you weren't such a young, sweet, impressionable child I'd break out some big-girl words that you wouldn't even find in the dictionary," Lorelai warned, walking up to the door and banging hard on the glass.

"Go ahead, you're always telling me to expand my education," Rory said innocently.

"Don't tempt me," Lorelai muttered under her breath. "Luke!" she yelled when the door-banging didn't seem to yield any results. "Luke! Don't do this to me! I told you we were coming, I told you my parents were coming, if you don't open this door and make us burgers I will be disowned, I swear it, please, pretty-please with a-"

She stopped when the door swung open from the inside. "Cherry on top," she finished, staring at Luke. Or rather, at Luke's clothes. Jeans- a given- and a clean white shirt, a tie, and the major clincher- _no hat_.

"It's open," he said mildly, by way of a greeting.

Lorelai recovered and gasped, one hand to her chest, the other thrown out protectively in front of Rory. "He's not wearing flannel!" she announced, even though Rory had two perfectly good eyes in her own head.

"Alert the media!" she ordered Rory, hanging on to her arm to prevent her from going inside. "You call Christiane Amanpour, and I'll get Dan Rather on the phone. Hell, that'll take too long, this is major news here! Breaking news! I know, we'll break into the newspaper office and print up a special bulletin. You can do that, you know stuff about newpapery things, and I'll stay here and give you live coverage over the cell phone! Hurry, he might change-"

Luke just rolled his eyes and let the door swing closed mid-rant, which was highly successful because it ended the rant altogether. Before he'd even made it back across the diner to the counter the door bells jangled and the girls came in, and he found out pretty damn quick that Lorelai Gilmore did not like having doors closed in her face.

"Excuse me, diner man?" she inquired snobbishly. "We weren't done out there, and since I'm about to patronize your establishment, I think it's highly impolite for you not to hold the door open as long as necessary."

"As long as necessary can be a very long time with you," Luke grunted impatiently. "Besides, you don't need me to hold your door open."

"Au contraire, Luke," she countered, "I _do_ need you. You are the main focus of our story. Without you all we'd have would be flannel-shirt-seeks-owner, and that won't get those issues off the newsstands anytime soon."

Luke decided that that comment didn't even deserve an answer, so he kept silent, which gave Lorelai a chance to look around at the empty room.

"I said save me a table, not save me a diner," she chastised. "Why are you closed, anyway? It's seven o'clock on a Friday night, usually you have half the town in here doing something obnoxious…Kirk's only just on his eighth cupcake by now…"

"It was a slow day, I decided to close early," Luke defended himself. "I could have closed altogether except I remembered some annoying woman telling me that I had to make her burgers at seven o'clock sharp on Friday under pain of death-"

Lorelai stopped listening when Rory poked her, and she followed her daughter's gaze. The table in the corner under the window was obviously where they were supposed to sit. Usually Luke told them to sit anywhere they wanted, which Lorelai usually delightedly took completely literally and tried to steal someone else's table. This time, though, there was a special table. A special table with four chairs and a white tablecloth. Lorelai had never, ever, seen a tablecloth in Luke's, and had in fact distinctly heard him refusing adamantly when Taylor had requested tablecloths to make the place 'classier'- Taylor's word, of course. But now there was a tablecloth, and fancy plates…cloth napkins…a vase of flowers and candles. And there was Luke, who looked suspiciously fancy himself.

"What did you do?" she demanded accusingly.

"Nothing," he shrugged uncomfortably. "I just figured maybe your parents were used to something a little…nicer, so-" he gesticulated at the table. "There you go. Nicer."

Lorelai gaped at him. "Very high class," she managed to say. "But you're supposed to fold the napkins into swans."

"Yeah, well, I'm all out of swans," he answered dryly. "But I do have duck, which I'm planning to serve, unless you really can't live without your dead cow on a bun."

'Duck will be fine," she said dazedly. She hadn't expected anything like this, not from Luke. She knew most of her requests- all right, demands- were a major inconvenience for him, and she often felt bad that he didn't complain. If he would only yell at her about being taken advantage of she would feel so much better. The best she'd hoped for tonight was a clean table and for Luke not to make any disgusting announcements about the food when he delivered it. She had also hoped that the town drama would be nonexistent, because she really didn't want Taylor or Kirk to give her mother more ammunition about what a terrible life she led by starting World War III at the next table. But there was no chance of carnage now- Luke's was closed, for everybody except her. And Rory, and Richard and Emily, but mostly her. She wasn't going to have to worry that all of her friends and fellow Stars Hollowites were going to witness her ritual humiliation at the hands of Emily Gilmore, and she didn't have to worry that the almost-inevitable dinner confrontation would be town gossip by tomorrow morning. Nobody was here except Luke; but the thought that Luke might see her flagellated by her family actually caused Lorelai more anxiety than if Miss Patty, Babette, and even Sookie- none of whom could keep a secret for more than five seconds- were there.

"Luke, I-" she began haltingly, but he held up his hand.

"The management is not currently accepting complaints, Ms. Gilmore," he said tiredly. "If this isn't good enough then I can't help you, because this is the best I can do. And you owe me."

"It's perfect, Luke," Rory assured him. "You didn't have to do this- Grandma and Grandpa have eaten burgers before, once, and I think they are capable of doing it again, but this is really nice, so thank you."

"Yeah, thank you," Lorelai gulped, feeling slightly ashamed that she hadn't thought to say that earlier.

Luke looked embarrassed. "It's no big deal," he protested again. "Here, you want some coffee?"

"Got anything stronger?" Lorelai asked with a half-smile.

"Hey, you ever tried to get a liquor license from this town?" Luke inquired, shaking his head.

"You mean, tried to get a liquor license from Taylor?" Lorelai corrected, smiling.

"Same thing," Luke grunted. He glanced up as a pair of headlights flashed into the diner.

"They're here!" Rory cried, opening the door to greet her grandparents.

"What time is it?" Lorelai asked Luke, grabbing his wrist so she could see his watch.

"I really wish you would just buy your own watch," he grumbled. "How do you ever get anywhere on time?"

"I don't," she answered simply, flashing him a grin.

"It's seven o'clock," he told her, and she nodded solemnly.

"The hour of judgment is upon us," she sighed.


	4. A Not So Scruffy Saint

**A Not-So-Scruffy Saint**

Lorelai was still holding her breath as Luke cleared away the dinner plates; it had been very hard to eat that way.

She kept glancing at her mother, sure and certain that Emily was saving all her vitriol and vengeance for dessert, since she hadn't spent any of it during the salad- when Lorelai had accidentally called one of her father's business associates a fruitcake- or during the main course, when Lorelai and Rory had debated whether or not Britney Spears had had a boob job. They hadn't reached a successful conclusion, since Luke had appeared to refill glasses and rolled his eyes at Lorelai, who interpreted it as a sign that maybe she should switch conversation topics. For some reason, there hadn't been any awkward silences tonight- they'd talked about Richard's business, Emily's social functions, Rory's school, and had actually spent much more time than the subject warranted discussing _the Da Vinci Code_. Rory had had to pick a recent bestseller for a school book report; at the time she had complained that everyone would pick that book, but, she said, there had only been two _Da Vinci Code's_ because there had been eleven _Harry Potter's_. Miraculously all four of them had read it, though Richard only admitted to it under extreme duress- Lorelai and Rory's constant teasing. He'd actually taken the ribbing pretty well, probably because the heat had suddenly been taken off him and aimed at Luke, who had accidentally let slip that he'd read_ Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood_, which Lorelai was still laughing about.

"Ya-Ya!" she cried suddenly at Luke, who almost dumped her dinner plate in her lap- not on purpose, of course.

"Geez!" he glared at her. "Would you stop with that? That's the third time you've Ya-Ya-ed at me-"

"And you jump every time!" Lorelai finished gleefully. "I cannot believe that you spent the little free time you have reading _that_."

"It was a bet I had with Jess," Luke said, exaggeratedly patient. "He lost, I got to pick the book, I lost- which I obviously did- he got to pick. That kid has a very twisted sense of humor."

"Been telling you that for months," Lorelai said in a told-you-so voice.

"Oh, Lorelai, leave the poor man alone," Richard broke in. Lorelai sucked in her breath- here it was: the lecture, the dressing-down, the why-are-you-acting-in-a-way-that-confirms-that-you're-such-a-huge-disappointment-to-me diatribe. Luke eyed her regretfully- he enjoyed bantering cantankerously with Lorelai, and she never failed to bite every time he baited her. But he hadn't thought that maybe her parents might disapprove of the playful insults being hurled back and forth, and if it would help, then he'd take the bullet for her.

"No, it's fine," he tried to mollify Richard. "I knew very well that she'd tease me about the book, but I mentioned it anyway."

"Yeah, he goaded me," Lorelai agreed eagerly.

Richard just shook his head. "Luke, you must have the patience of a saint."

"Well, I have heard of a Saint Luke," Luke answered insufferably. "Who knew they were talking about me?"

"You are _so_ not a saint," Lorelai mumbled so only he could hear.

"Aren't you supposed to kneel when you talk to me?" he muttered back.

"Dinner was lovely, Luke," Emily was saying. "And I must say, I like your new look. Why, I almost didn't recognize you when we arrived!"

"Oh, well," Luke shrugged uncomfortably.

"Yeah, he cleans up pretty good," Lorelai smirked. He resisted the urge to cuff her on the head as he leaned over to clear an empty plate. He never reached it, because she grabbed his hand as it snaked over her shoulder and inspected his sleeve. "You missed a button," she announced, fastening it for him while he stood in a funny, bent-over position. He exhaled loudly and let her do it, since he couldn't do anything else. Rory hid a grin and slid her eyes over to her grandmother, who was smiling pretty smugly herself.

"You done?" Luke demanded gruffly, when it appeared that she'd finished with the button but was still holding his hand.

"The thread's loose," she chastised. "Give me your shirt before I leave and I'll fix it for you."

"I'm not giving you my shirt," he protested, alarmed that Richard and Emily might take her invitation at something other than its face value.

"Luke, it'll take me ten seconds to sew that button on properly, but unless you have a sewing kit here I have to do it at home," she said impatiently.

"Fine, I'll bring it by tomorrow," he said hurriedly, as he yanked his arm away and practically ran into the kitchen.

An awkward silence fell on the diners for a short moment.

"What?" Lorelai mouthed at Rory, in response to the strange looks everyone was giving her. Rory only shrugged, smiling.

"That duck was absolutely delicious," Richard declared contentedly.

"Yes, your Luke certainly is a fine chef," Emily agreed. Rory's eyes sparked and she looked at Lorelai expectantly- that comment practically begged for a quick retort of 'He's not _my_ Luke!'- but Lorelai just smiled in agreement.

"I can see why you never learned to cook," Emily continued. "With Luke and Sookie to feed you, why should you?"

"All part of the master plan," Lorelai said agreeably. "I'm going to train Miss Patty from the dance studio to do my laundry along with all her costumes, so pretty soon I'll have absolutely no need to do any kind of domestic chores ever again."

"Or you could just get a maid," Rory suggested mischievously.

"But that's what I have you for, darling," Lorelai replied sweetly.


	5. Here You Go, Sailor

**Here You Go, Sailor**

Dinner lasted a little longer than usual- and to Lorelai's astonishment, she didn't notice. She wouldn't admit it to anyone but herself, but she'd actually had a not-so-heinous time tonight. There had even been a time when all four of them had laughed, together, at the same thing- and for once it wasn't at her expense.

At nine-thirty Richard and Emily agreed by unspoken signal that it was time to leave, and as Richard helped his wife with her coat, she turned to her daughter and said, quite sincerely, "Thank you for dinner, Lorelai. This was a lovely idea."

"Well, you can thank Rory for the idea, since it was hers," Lorelai answered, smiling, "and thank Luke for dinner, since I quite happily had nothing to do with it."

Emily's eyes flashed, and she said curtly, "Well, of course I'll thank them, I'm not an ungrateful barbarian. I simply meant-"

"I know what you meant." Lorelai tried hard to keep the defensive edge out of her voice. In a sudden flash of insight almost unknown to her she realized that Emily was hurt because Lorelai hadn't accepted the compliment that had obviously been difficult to give. Her mother's mind worked in very strange ways, and most of the time they were completely alien to Lorelai. But this time she had figured it out, and she actually had the option of knowing exactly what to say that wouldn't be insulting. _Well, hallelujah, _she thought wistfully_, and put that baby down in the Guinness Book of World Records, cause it ain't happening again._

"You're right, Mom, this was nice," she offered, giving Emily a small but genuine smile. It had been nice, and she desperately wanted to believe that it could happen again- but she knew her parents too well to let her guard down completely.

Richard shook Luke's hand companionably, and said, "Thank you for an excellent meal, young man. I shall recommend this place to my clients."

Luke smiled and accepted the compliment, resisting the urge to tell Richard that his clients would never be able to get a similar meal here, because he would only do this fancy stuff for one person- and he was pretty sure she wasn't one of the clients Richard had in mind.

Rory and Lorelai walked the Gilmores to their car, but Luke knew from long experience that he wasn't off duty yet. He grinned to himself and started a fresh pot of coffee, mentally counting down, 3…2…1…

Mother and daughter re-entered the diner, identical, shell-shocked expressions on their faces.

"We've entered the third dimension," Lorelai muttered in wonder as they sat down at the counter. Luke continued to clean up from dinner, but they ignored him, so he was a silent witness to their conversation- as usual. Lorelai turned to Rory and demanded, "Who were those people we just had dinner with?"

Rory shrugged, sharing her mother's confusion. "It looked like Grandma and Grandpa, but…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, talks like a duck- no, wait a second, that's not right, ducks don't talk- maybe if it quacks like a duck…" Lorelai babbled nonsensically.

"Stop talking about ducks again," Rory groaned.

Those were not my parents," Lorelai stated firmly. "I don't know who the hell they were, but that woman was not Emily Gilmore! She did not insult me once. Not once! I need to lie down…my whole world's been turned inside out and upside down and backwards…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Luke grunted from behind the counter. "Not that I usually do," he allowed, at their questioning looks. "And I don't know why you complain so much about Friday night dinners, anyway. That was a perfectly nice dinner with perfectly nice people."

Lorelai and Rory exchanged expressions of complete and utter horror, transferred their gazes to Luke, who had the common sense to back up a step, and then looked at each other again. Lorelai raised an eyebrow at Rory, asking for permission.

Rory held up her hands to absolve herself of any responsibility and said, "Hey, you do what you gotta do."

Still giving Luke the look of horrified disbelief, Lorelai raised herself up, leaned across the counter slowly, and then soundly whacked Luke on the shoulder before carefully climbing back down onto the stool. His mouth twitched, and he tried very hard not to laugh.

"Was it worth the effort?" he asked sarcastically.

"Totally," she replied wholeheartedly. He waited for the rest of the rant, but she was silent, which stunned him more than anything else that had happened that night. He had never seen Lorelai Gilmore speechless- and he doubted he ever would, but right now she was pretty close, and he was enjoying it immensely.

"Your dad seemed like a really nice guy," he commented, watching Lorelai turn a funny shade of pink out of the corner of his eye. "Not exactly a kick-back, watch the game with a beer and grill up some steaks kind of guy, but still. Really nice."

"Luke, you did not meet my father tonight!" Lorelai exploded. "My father is not a really nice guy! He's scheming, and manipulative, and he uses people to get what he wants, what he thinks is best for them, even if they don't want it! He-" she stopped abruptly when she saw he was almost laughing.

"You're kidding," she realized. "You're kidding, I can't believe you're kidding, I must have lost ten years of my life this week stressing over this dinner, and it went unbelievably well, so now of course I'm stressing to figure out _why_ it went so unbelievably well, and now you're kidding and I'm-" she blew out a breath. She noticed Rory laughing and poked her.

"Hey, you're supposed to be on my side," she grumbled, making a face at Luke. He finally took pity on her. The woman always teased him to past the point of no return, but he was kinder- and plus, he figured she could take him, _and_ she ran faster than he did, even in heels.

"It did go really well," he agreed sincerely. "I don't know why- probably because I don't know _how_ well it went, but I don't think you need to worry. Although if you're thinking of a repeat performance you've got another think coming- there's no way I can deal with a Gilmore Friday dinner every week, I do have principles."

"No, we wouldn't subject you to that again," Lorelai promised. "Because that was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of dinner, a once-in-an-eternity kind of dinner, the kind legends are made of. All the little children in years to come will gather round and hear the story of how the Wicked Witch of Hartford played nice and didn't eat her daughter for supper. You, my friend, just witnessed a miracle. I hope you're suitably impressed."

He just grinned at her and poured her another cup of coffee- before she even asked for it, which was something he never, ever did.

"It was you!" Lorelai exclaimed, close on the heels of her last sentence.

Luke turned around to see who else she was talking to, but of course the diner was empty except for the three of them. "You, flannel man, you!" Lorelai elaborated.

"Me what?" he demanded impatiently. He really did not want to play another Lorelai mind game, not on top of everything else.

"It was _you_ that made the dinner go so well!" She sounded almost accusatory.

"What?" Luke and Rory said together, both sounding equally skeptical.

"You! With the fancy table and the fancy reservation and the fancy candles and the cooking of the fancy food and the fancy wine-"

"Would you stop saying fancy?" he asked, though with little hope of relief.

"And the fancy apron! I like the fancy apron, by the way-"

Luke opened his mouth for a much louder protest than before but she didn't give him a chance.

"And the fancy manners- you charmed my mother! I never would have believed it possible, but ol' Luke here tamed the dragon!"

Luke was shaking his head in denial, but Rory was looking at him appraisingly. "You were pretty fancy tonight, Luke," she admitted, almost as an apology.

Lorelai stared at him, incredulous. _Why_ had he gone to so much trouble just for a simple, stressful dinner with her parents? Why had he done that for her? With just one duck l'orange (there were the ducks again) he had quite possibly patched up years of her tangled, messy, complicated relationship with the Gilmores, and she couldn't comprehend it. A precedent had been set- she had proved she was able (with a healthy amount of help from Luke) to keep her mouth shut at opportune times, thereby avoiding venomous responses and insults, and her mother had demonstrated that she was fully capable of holding a civilized conversation, even with Lorelai. Shaking her head in amazement, she looked him right in the eye and said, "Thank you, Luke."

He waved his hand as if to ward off her gratitude. "I didn't do anything," he argued. "I got Lane to set the table, and Cesar did most of the cooking, I just-"

"You were fancy," Lorelai said sweetly, "and fabulous."

He actually stopped what he was doing long enough to give her a disgusted look that expressed just how he felt about her using that particular adjective to describe him.

She watched him slyly. "Fabulous in flannel," she tested, and he flinched. "You, Luke Danes, are our Fabulous Flannel Fellow," she dubbed him triumphantly.

"Ah, geez," he sighed, and Rory joined in.

"New game!" she cried happily. "How about Brave Burger Boy?"

"Daring Diner Dude," Lorelai offered.

He gave her a dirty look. "Don't call me dude," he said warningly.

"Helpful Hamburger, um, Hero!" Rory said between giggles.

"Ooh, good one!" Lorelai complimented. "Bad-ass, Backwards-Baseball, B-…B-…" she frowned when she couldn't come up with another 'B' word. "Boy," she finally finished unsatisfactorily.

"You can't use that one," he rebuked her sternly, reaching to take away her coffee cup. She snatched it back before he could touch it.

"Why not?" she demanded childishly.

"You already called me boy. If you're going to insult me, at least be original about it," he requested wearily. He turned to the other one, but the wheels were still going in Rory's head.

"Marvelous Mocha Man!" she offered him, smiling angelically. He glared at her.

"Rory. I don't expect any better from your mother, but you? I always liked you. Gave you coffee, made you pie-"

"She started it," Rory pointed to Lorelai guiltily.

"Fink," Lorelai pouted at her daughter.

"Besides, when have I ever made you mocha?" Luke wanted to know.

"Never," Rory agreed readily. "But coffee doesn't start with an M. If it did then I could call you Marvelous Moffee Man-" Lorelai snorted in laughter- "or if man started with a C then you could be…Cool…Coffee Can, or something."

"Cool Coffee Cutie!" Lorelai managed to get out between giggles and giggles-induced hiccups, but Luke had finally had it.

"Lorelai, I will give you free coffee for a year if you stop right now," he bargained, deadly afraid that she might call him 'Cutie' again.

"Aw, Luke, that's sweet," Lorelai said sincerely. "But you already give me free coffee."

"Hah, that's what you think," he muttered as he finished whatever it was he was doing with the dishrag and leaned against the counter. "I've actually been putting it on your tab all this time…I think you're up at five-thousand-seven-hundred-and-something-odd-bucks by now…"

"Funny." She feigned annoyance.

"And that's just for Rory," he added teasingly.

"I do drink a lot of coffee," Rory said thoughtfully.

"I knew having a kid was a bad idea," Lorelai grumbled. Luke was just watching her, smiling, glad that the dinner had gone so well and she was so happy. His gaze made her supremely uncomfortable, so she did what she always did and made a joke.

"Weyall, ah doo hate bein' indebeted to anyone fo' anything," she drawled in an over-the-top southern accent. She slithered off her stool and sauntered along to the cash register. "Ah guess ah'll just have to pay all mah bills to the nice, kind gennleman he-ar," she continued, looking around her and batting her eyes. "Where _is_ the nice, kind gennleman?" she demanded. Luke rolled his eyes but didn't move his feet, just leaned over so he was right across from her if she turned to face him.

"Oh, theyah you are," she observed, her accent faltering a bit. She dug around in her purse, shoving aside keys, lipstick, hairbrush, pens- why did she have so many pens?- and finally emerging with a sad-looking crumpled-up five dollar bill.

"Here you go, sailor," she said jauntily, tossing it on the counter. Rory shook her head pityingly as her mother's Southern Belle degenerated into Southern Dance Hall Girl. Luke did not express an opinion on the accent- not out loud, at least- but he regarded the fiver with a less-than-appreciative look.

"Is that all?" he wanted to know.

"What else do you want?" Lorelai asked.

"What else you got?" he shot back.

"This," she said, and leaned over and kissed him.

Rory's mouth dropped open in shock; Luke's would have done the same if it hadn't already been otherwise engaged. Lorelai pulled away before either of them could acknowledge what she'd done, and she didn't look at Luke. He stared at her, dumbstruck, convinced that he had imagined it and it hadn't really happened. He wrenched his gaze away from Lorelai and glanced at Rory, who was staring back at him goggle-eyed- which made him think maybe it _had_ really happened and he _hadn't_ imagined it. Lorelai grabbed her purse and her daughter, saying, "It's late, hon, you should be in bed," and took off, fleeing the diner, the only evidence that she'd even been there the jangling door bell and the empty coffee cup on the counter.

Luke stared after her, mind reeling, and wondered whether or not he was supposed to go talk to her. But it wasn't his fault she'd kissed him- he wasn't so self-centered as to think that she'd simply been unable to resist his raw animal magnetism- and he wasn't good at talking.

He could see her on the other side of the street, yanking Rory along- then suddenly she stopped, turned around, and began to cross back again. Almost as soon as she'd stepped off the curb she changed her mind and spun round, striding off determinedly without a backwards glance. Luke placed both hands on the counter and bent his head as he tried to deal with the overwhelming thrill of panic he felt; he had no idea whether it was terror that she'd almost come back or dismay that she hadn't. His sudden, complete lack of self-control made him unaccountably angry, and he stormed over to the front door, locking it securely.

This changed absolutely everything, and as much as he wanted it, he hated change. Ten minutes ago he knew the boundaries of their relationship- she came in, demanded coffee, he gave her coffee. Sometimes she came in crying, about the good relationships that had ended or the bad relationships that hadn't, and he'd give her coffee again and tell her everything would be okay. And sometimes she'd ask him to fix things- her porch, her window, her self-esteem- and he'd do it in a shot, never even wondering why she always asked him. But this changed everything, and it was all her fault.

In the very back of his mind he had always allowed himself to acknowledge that maybe it could change someday; someday in the far distant future when he didn't feel like such a worthless coward; but it had always been _him_ that changed it. Now with a here-you-go-sailor and a five-dollar bill _she_ had changed it, and it pulled the rug out from under him. He was mad at her for doing it so spontaneously, so casually- but if it was going to be Lorelai that changed it, that would be the way she would do it.

And he refused to admit it, but he was mad at himself as well, because he had let it happen so fast that he couldn't even remember the kiss that he'd waited forever for. He stomped up the stairs to his apartment- maybe he should have gone to talk to her, but he wasn't good at talking. And he knew quite firmly that she wasn't coming back tonight.


	6. It's Not Hallucinating If You Did See It

**It's Not Hallucinating If You Really Did See It**

They were halfway home before Rory had recovered enough from the shock to start asking questions. She hadn't recovered completely; the plaintive questions still mainly consisted of "Wha- with the- and the- humma?" and "Smoo-?"

Lorelai finally turned to her. "Complete sentences might be nice," she suggested tightly. "And real words, if you think you can manage it."

All the pieces finally aligned themselves in Rory's brain and she stopped so suddenly that Lorelai, still hanging on to her daughter's arm, was jerked backwards.

"You kissed Luke!" Rory yelped accusingly.

"What are you talking about?" Lorelai asked innocently, in completely unconvincing feigned confusion.

"Just now, just there, just- kissing! Luke! You and!" Rory spluttered ungrammatically.

"Aw, honey, you're hallucinating again," Lorelai said sympathetically. "Is it time to go back and see the nice psychiatrist? He's not really scary, you know, it's his job to do those things with ink-blots-"

"Mom." Rory refused to let her avoid this.

"Time to up the drugs, huh?" Lorelai made one last attempt.

"You kissed Luke," Rory repeated seriously.

Lorelai sighed loudly and screwed up her face, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know."

They walked on in silence, Rory's thoughts churning fast enough she could make butter. She glanced at Lorelai's face as they passed in and out of the streetlight glow, but her expression was unreadable. The silence drew on so long Rory began to think that her mother wasn't going to say _anything, _which would be a completely anomalous and undocumented experience.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect _that_ tonight." Lorelai's comment was sudden and abrupt, but Rory was extremely glad to see that her powers of speech had returned.

"I second that," Rory agreed whole-heartedly, blowing out a relieved breath.

"I actually think it went pretty well," Lorelai continued thoughtfully. "Any opinion you'd like to share?"

Rory's eyes widened in alarm. "Um- ah- well, I don't really think it's mentally healthy for me to have an opinion on that particular situation," she said, as delicately as possible.

"Oh, come on Rory, you were there- what did you think?" Lorelai pressed unrelentingly.

"I think- I don't know- your eyes were closed, that's probably good," Rory offered helplessly, looking everywhere but at Lorelai and feeling ridiculously uncomfortable.

"Are we talking about the same thing?"

"Luke?"

"No."

"Oh."

"You thought I was asking you how well I'd kissed Luke?" Lorelai sounded incredulous and a tiny bit disgusted.

"Well, stranger things have happened," Rory retorted stiffly, blushing. "Especially with you." She tried not to notice her mother's amused smirk. "And why _aren't_ you talking about Luke, anyway?"

"I was talking about dinner," Lorelai explained quickly, not sure which subject would be safer to pursue, but sticking with the one that didn't involve kissing.

"What about dinner?"

"It was unexpected."

"_And_, we're right back where we started," Rory announced in frustration. "Mom, you don't talk in circles, you talk in dodecahedrons."

"No, listen, I'm trying to figure something out," Lorelai persisted, quite seriously. "Dinner."

"In my personal opinion, I don't think dinner should be at the top of your list of things to figure out right now," Rory sighed patiently. "Something else should- it starts with 'L-' and ends in '-uke.'"

"Just humor me, would you?" Lorelai demanded crossly.

"Fine, sorry. Dinner?"

"Two weeks ago, when Grandpa said 'let's have dinner at Luke's,' what did you think?"

"Oh boy, retroactive thinking," Rory muttered, not quietly enough.

"Rory…"

"Sorry, sorry. I thought- dinner at Luke's, a normal night for us, with the grandparents along."

"Yes!" Lorelai pounced on the information. "A _normal _night. And what, exactly, constitutes a normal night at Luke's?"

Rory sighed at this painfully cumbersome examination of the night's events, but played along. They were almost home, and the thought of Mallomars buoyed her spirits.

"A normal night at Luke's means burgers," she began obediently. "It means lots of fries and lots of coffee, with Luke in his backwards baseball hat grumbling around, annoyed because you're being- er- your usual, charming self," she improvised brightly at Lorelai's suspicious look.

"Nice save," Lorelai eyed her knowingly, but motioned for her to continue.

"It means a totally gross description of the food when Luke brings it to the table, and it means half the town coming in and out doing bizarre and crazy things," Rory finished. "And you knew all that, so why'd you make me say it?"

"Because tonight wasn't normal," Lorelai tried to explain, puzzled. "It was…_different_. It was a big-deal different. Luke made duck. Not burgers, not pancakes, not Monte Cristo sandwiches, but actual edible food that my parents wouldn't misconstrue as roadkill. He put a tablecloth on the table. I never thought I'd see a tablecloth in Luke's, not unless Jess scratched something obscene into one of the table tops. He got dressed up and he took off his hat, and he closed the whole _diner_!" her voice got louder and more incredulous as she finished the list.

"He planned it all out!" she continued in amazement. "It was a huge favor for him just to let us all come and taint his diner with our Friday night dinner, and then he went and did this! Can you imagine how long all that preparation took? He must have been cooking all day! _And_ he had to buy a shirt."

"He probably already had the shirt," Rory put her practical two cents in.

"Why?" Lorelai demanded, shaking her head. "_Why_ did he do it?"

Rory smiled at Lorelai's obvious bafflement; she really had no clue. "He did it because he's secretly in love with you, and he would stand on his head wearing a pink tutu if he thought it would make you happy," she explained painstakingly.

"That's so not true," Lorelai responded witheringly.

Rory shrugged. "Maybe not the tutu," she answered seriously. "But he cares about you, Mom. I mean _really_ cares about you. Can't you see it?"

Lorelai bit her lip as she unlocked the front door, heading through the dark house towards the kitchen. Automatically she flipped on the coffeepot while Rory switched on the lights and rooted in the cupboard for the brand-new box of Mallomars.

"I think I did see it tonight," she finally answered quietly. "I think that's why I… kissed him."

Rory studied her mother carefully. "Did you want to?" she asked uncomfortably. She had never been completely at ease talking about her mother's love life, and the wild thought that maybe her mother's love life included Luke was really not helping the situation.

"I don't know," Lorelai admitted. "I didn't think about it, it just happened, like an automatic reflex. This is so weird. What am I doing? It's _Luke_, for God's sake."

"It's Luke," Rory agreed carefully.

"I don't want to hurt him," Lorelai said uncomfortably, to her coffee cup.

"Oh, Mom, you won't hurt him," Rory said comfortingly. She patted Lorelai's hand and offered her the box of cookies.

"I will," Lorelai argued, quietly but firmly. "Just- look at my track record, kid. I'm not good with men, not long-term, anyway. I always hold something back, I do something or say something that ends it, and then I'm upset and he's upset and I feel guilty because I know I ended it because I was scared. And I would _hate_ myself if I did that to Luke." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Hell, I already did it to him tonight. I kissed him, panicked, and ran, like a Barcelona-sized pack of bulls was after me."

"This is different," Rory said, knowing there was certainty behind her words. "He won't let you hurt him. Luke's stronger than you think, Mom. He knows you. He's seen you in those relationships before, he knows how you work, he knows what you do. He knows you're _unbelievably_ high-maintenance-" she blinked as the Mallomar Lorelai flicked at her glanced off her forehead- "but he can handle it." She shrugged, smiling, as she issued her last revelation. "He knows you, Mom- but he pulled a Martha Stewart for you tonight _anyway_."

Lorelai didn't respond, just sat sipping her coffee thoughtfully. She was out of good arguments, and even if she had them, she wasn't sure now if she wanted to make them. Did she want to talk herself out of a relationship with Luke? It sounded so terrifying and yet so safe at the same time. There would be no escape, even if she thought she wanted it. Luke wouldn't let her run away for childish, selfish reasons- there would have to be a major calamity to end an era of Luke-and-Lorelai. For a moment it sounded too confining for her restless, independent heart. Someone who thought he knew what she wanted and what was good for her, and wouldn't let her ruin what she had? Lorelai wasn't unaware of the strange and unwelcome parallel with her parents that that thought called up.

But secretly she wondered if she unconsciously craved security and partnership, since she'd lived so long without it. She was strong when she was alone; she didn't know if it was possible for her to be strong and _together_. How could she control her own life if she became completely dependent on Luke? She didn't kid herself- she knew she was pretty dependent on Luke anyway, since he cooked her food, made her coffee, repaired her house, and served as her sounding board. But that was different to becoming dependent on Luke for her happiness. Emotional involvement with anyone was scary, because she always worried about what would happen when the connection broke- a scenario she now cynically expected for no reason other than it had happened to her so many times before. What on _earth_ would she do without Luke, if it ever came to that? The idea was completely unfathomable even now, while he was still technically "only" her friend. She didn't have an escape plan, an emergency evacuation, for the current situation, let alone for a time when Luke would be so integral to her life and to her Lorelai-ness that losing him would be like losing an arm or leg. She couldn't even begin to construct an idea of how she would go on living an as-close-to-normal life as possible; a future without Luke just loomed in her mind like a dark, black, empty abyss. She was willing to pay almost any price to safeguard herself from that nothingness. _Almost_ any price. Pursuing this new, exciting, and exhilarating development in their relationship might lead her awfully close to that big black hole, but did that mean she shouldn't even try? Was she willing to give up what could turn out to be the best and most fulfilling thing in her life so she could shelter and protect herself from something that might not ever happen? She thought she was stronger than that. She thought she was better than that.

Still, it was awfully scary to think about braving that nothingness all by herself. _Except Luke would be there_, she suddenly thought. Neatly, everything clicked into place, and she fully realized the importance of what Rory had told her. _'I don't want to hurt him,'_ she'd fearfully confided. _'He won't let you,'_ Rory had replied. He wouldn't let her hurt him, and he wouldn't let her hurt herself. He would hold her hand and lead her safely away from that horrifying, lonely abyss; he would be her refuge from her own doubts; he would promise her safety and security when she could no longer trust herself; and he would forgive her because he would always know that she never really meant it.

_So what the hell are you waiting for, Gilmore_? She demanded of herself helplessly.

"Mom?" Rory's voice broke into her reverie. Lorelai blinked and focused her eyes on her daughter, who looked a little curious that Lorelai had all but abandoned a perfectly good cup of coffee. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Lorelai nodded and got up from her chair purposefully. She brushed the Mallomar crumbs off the table into her half-empty cup, took the cup to the sink, and carefully rinsed it out. Then she re-buttoned her jacket, swallowed hard, and announced, "I'm going back."

"To the diner?" Rory confirmed, trying to keep her own excitement and expectations out of her voice.

"To the diner," Lorelai answered with a wry half-smile. "And God knows where I'm going from there."


	7. Stupid Vs Stupendous

**Stupid Vs. Stupendous**

The lights were out when she got there, which wasn't surprising since it was after midnight and this was Stars Hollow, after all. She'd talked herself into and out of this decision a dozen times on the way over, which is why it had taken her almost two hours to walk less than half a mile. She stood in front of the darkened door for a long time and wondered if he really was asleep, if he really could sleep after what had happened. She couldn't, but maybe he could; maybe it didn't matter to him like it mattered to her. She stopped herself from thinking that, because if she thought that then she shouldn't be here, and she shouldn't be doing this.

She reached out for the doorknob and turned it, but it didn't turn because it was locked. _Locked-up_, she thought. Which wasn't surprising since it was after midnight, and this was Stars Hollow, after all. The whole town was probably locked-up. _Or if they're not, they should be_. She almost smiled, wishing there was someone with her who would appreciate that thought- Rory, who would laugh, or Luke, who would agree whole-heartedly.

Luke. She didn't want to do this loudly; it seemed wrong. The door was locked, he was upstairs, there was no way he would know she was there unless she threw rocks at his window and yelled for him to come down, and she didn't want to do that. But she didn't want to leave, either. She fidgeted with the hem of her jacket and finally just sat down on the front steps, wrapping her arms around her knees and staring into space.

_This is crazy_. The thought echoed her earlier musings. _I'm crazy, we're all crazy…you have to be to live here, you have to be insane_. She'd always wondered why the opposite of sane was insane; why wasn't it unsane, or nonsane? Nonsane actually made sense; it sounded like nonsense, which was what this train of thought was. But insane? It was like saying you were _in_ a place, and it didn't really make any sense because if you were in sane then wouldn't you be even saner than normal? _There should be a town called Sane_, she thought idly, _then when your mother called you and asked where you were, you could say 'I'm in Sane right now, but I'll be home for dinner.' _

She pictured her own mother's reaction to such news and almost laughed. Emily never appreciated her jokes, which Lorelai knew all too well. It was partly just to annoy her mother that she continued to make them- well, actually, making jokes was just part of who she was, annoying her mother was an extra bonus. She knew this; she knew she made jokes when she was uncomfortable, or intimidated, or uncertain. She knew she made jokes to avoid or diffuse potentially painful scenarios. She knew she was making jokes to herself this very minute to put off thinking about what to do with Luke. And she knew she had screwed this up royally. What ridiculously optimistic thought process had driven her from the comfort and safety of her own house, determined to throw herself into Luke's arms? She snorted derisively at her own starry-eyed fantasy. It didn't work that way.

Luke was her friend, her best friend after Rory and Sookie, and he was always there. He was in her life, and there was no way he was suddenly going to be out of her life now- she couldn't handle that, couldn't even _imagine_ that, not after all this time. But she had just put their relationship on a scale so complicated it went beyond the plot of a Russian novel, and she hadn't thought at all about what would happen after. Stupid. Not the kissing- that hadn't been stupid at all, in fact it had been far from stupid. Stupendous, was more like it. But the not thinking about the post-kiss situation had been very, very stupid. What did they have now? Friendship, or relationship? Friendship _and_ relationship? Frelationship? How did people make this awkward transition from friends to more-than-friends? She was going to have to figure it out, because she was the one who had started it. The ball was so totally in her court it was like he wasn't even playing, and as much as she liked to be in control of every other aspect of her life, she half-wished that Luke was the one sitting on the front steps at twelve-seventeen on a Friday night worrying about what to do, what to say to him.

Although Luke wouldn't be trying to figure out what to say to himself, she mentally corrected. He probably never said anything to himself, he saved his minimal verbaging for other people. Mostly her. Luke talked to her, Luke smiled at her, Luke laughed with her. Dammit, he was an amazing guy. _Her_ amazing guy. Waiting for her, all this time. Just on the other side of that big, black hole.

She drew in a long, shaky breath and leaned forward to rest her head on her knees; she felt totally and utterly drained, from the week, from dinner, and now from this. Satisfied that it had finally accepted what her heart had been telling it for heaven knows how long, and at a complete loss as to what to do next, her mind contented itself with drifting, thinking aimless thoughts mainly to do with her shoes, which she happened to be staring at.

_I do love boots_, she mused superficially. _I have some great brown boots- oooh, and the pink ones with the furry tops that Rory says make me look like a Go-Go_…Her mind suddenly seized up when another pair of boots, not pink or furry, appeared in front of her. Luke's boots.

Her head snapped up and she met his eyes for the tiniest second before she looked away again.

"Hey." He sounded tired, uncertain, confused- which she knew he had every right to be.

"Hi," she replied hesitantly. He stood there for a long moment, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his old green army jacket. Without even realizing it she shifted ever so slightly to the side, unconsciously encouraging him to sit beside her. He did, sighing loudly as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His sleeve brushed her arm and she shivered. It was cold, she told herself, and the cold-concrete-step-butt combination was a pain in the- well, a pain in the butt.

"It's kinda funny," he commented, almost casually. She froze- did he know she'd been thinking about butts? No way- but still, she gave him the patented Lorelai, what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about? look.

"I've been sitting on _your_ front steps for the last hour and a half trying to figure out what to say to you."

"Oh," was all she could say. She swallowed. "Any luck?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, well, I figured," she said, sounding not at all surprised.

"Hey, you kissed me," he retorted defensively. "You figure it out."

"So why don't you kiss me and we'll call it even?" Stupid, stupid thing to say, she scolded herself. Wit and sarcasm, while always a joy, were definitely, definitely the wrong tools to use right now. Stupid. She couldn't look at him- she didn't want to see his face, his expression. As soon as she decided not to look at him she had the overwhelming urge to do so- what had he looked like when she told him to kiss her? Skeptical- annoyed- hopeful? Damn, damn, damn, this was going to be even worse than she'd imagined, and she'd imagined scenarios like in the hopelessly cheesy soap operas she wouldn't admit to watching.

She snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye; he was staring at the ground, his hair falling forward slightly. She liked Luke's hair- the parts of it that weren't receding faster than an ebb tide right before a tsunami- and she never saw it- it was always under his backwards baseball cap. He looked good tonight, hair visible, no flannel- although she had to admit she liked his flannel, no matter how much she tormented him about it. He just looked good, period, and she wondered why she'd never noticed before how attractive he was. She'd told him he looked good, once- accidentally, and he'd never let her live it down. He wasn't hot, he wasn't cute, he was _Luke_- and now she was realizing that he was hot cute Luke. Damn again.

"Did you mind?" she found herself asking, then blushed, which was something she rarely did.

"What?"

She had to smile; that was like his favorite word, or maybe he only said it to her all the time because he didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

"Um- before, in the-" she waved her hand vaguely behind them- "when- when I…" She gulped. "Did you mind?"

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "God, Lorelai," he said fervently, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Of course not."

"Oh." She took a deep, deep breath, summoned all her courage, and told him, "Me neither."

She felt, rather than saw, him jerk in astonishment and turn towards her. "What?" he breathed, hands clenched so tightly together his knuckles turned white.

"I didn't mind," she repeated, feeling dizzy. She clutched the fabric of her pants stretched over her knees just to have something to hold on to. Something else, she needed to say something else. "In fact, if you want, we could do it again sometime." She closed her eyes in absolute frustration with herself- she hadn't meant to say that, it was the complete opposite of the right thing to say, he was going to think she was a desperate lunatic, or worse, that this was only a casual thing to her. She felt like crying from this overload of emotion. She was good at talking. It was her thing, everybody said so, some in a not-so-complimentary way, but still, she should have this covered. And if she didn't do the talking it would never get said, because this was Luke and he wasn't good at talking. She did her best to calm herself down before she looked at him, and then tried again before she turned to him.

"Luke, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

And then she couldn't say anything else because he was kissing her, _he_ was kissing _her_, and the second after their lips met she had completely forgotten what it was she had intended to say. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and she felt so comfortable, so safe. This was right; she didn't need to say it, because he knew it and she knew it, and she also knew now that he was a pretty damn terrific kisser and she would be quite happy to sit here on this lovely, warm concrete step and kiss him all night long.

Her lungs were of a different opinion, however, and she couldn't ignore their demands for oxygen indefinitely. She pulled away gently, but not far away; suddenly she couldn't remember how she'd ever existed without the feel of his arms around her waist or his forehead against hers.

"I've wanted to do that for a long, long, time," he told her, his voice thick and catching in his throat. She closed her eyes for a second, coming to terms with the fact that Luke had cared about her _that_ way, all this time, just like everyone had told her- Rory, Miss Patty, Babette, Sookie, Max, Jess, of all people, God, even her _mother_.

"What, finally shut me up?" she asked teasingly, though she still felt breathless and light-headed.

He grinned. "That, too."

She shook her head, becoming serious again. "I didn't know, Luke," she said, almost as an apology. "I didn't know that this- that you- that I- that I wanted this. And I wish to God I had known sooner, because I do. I _do_ want this, so very much, and that's a really big deal for me to think that, let alone say it, because it's you, and you're-" She stopped anxiously, but forced herself to go on. "Tonight my mother called you 'my Luke,'" she said simply. "And you are."

His arms tightened around her and she pressed her face against his shoulder, biting her lip to hold back the tears. It freaked Luke out when she cried; she didn't think he'd mind right now, but still.

"It's my fault," he said softly against her hair, voice filled with guilt and regret. "_I _knew. I knew a long time ago, and I didn't say anything. There was just too much in the way, too much to lose, and- well, you know how much I hate change," he finished lightly, trying to ease the burden of repressed feelings that weighed them both down. She sniffed loudly and drew back to look at him.

"That's too bad, you know, 'cause I was going to pay off my five-thousand-seven-hundred-and-something tab in quarters," she laughed quickly. He smiled at her, a rare Luke smile that only she ever got to see, and she smiled slowly back at him.

"Lorelai…" he murmured, and then they were kissing again, though neither one started it and neither one ended it for a long, long, time.


	8. Instruments of Insomnia

**Instruments of Insomnia**

He walked her home. She asked him to come in, but he refused quite vehemently, saying that if he came in now he wouldn't leave until tomorrow morning, and call him old-fashioned but maybe they should have dinner first. With a quick glance at Babette's darkened windows he kissed her goodnight and walked away, and she managed to force her wobbly knees up the front steps and inside. She never thought she was the kind of woman who went weak in the knees over some guy, but maybe she was- and after all, this wasn't some guy, this was Luke. She leaned against the back of the closed front door, catching her breath and collecting her thoughts, and then called for Rory.

"Rory?" she was surprised at how she sounded, all excited and breathless and emotional.

When she got no response she headed for the kitchen. "Roryroryroryroryroryroryrory…" her voice got louder as she got closer to her daughter's room, and she threw the door open. She could just make out the tangle of blankets and limbs that was her daughter in the dark, but there was absolutely no way that this could wait until a more sleeper-friendly hour. "Rory!"

Rory shifted in her bed, making unintelligible but disgruntled-sounding noises. Lorelai plopped down next to her and shook her shoulder.

"Are you awake?"

"No," Rory groaned, finally giving in and sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?" she mumbled.

"What are you talking about?" Lorelai asked impatiently, glancing at the alarm clock's glowing numbers that read 2:18 AM. "It's not that late, what are you doing asleep?"

"What are you doing awake?" Rory demanded, slightly irritated.

"I kissed Luke," Lorelai confessed in a confidential tone.

"I know, I was there, remember?" Rory sighed, exasperated. "Just because I'm trying to block _that_ mental picture from my memory doesn't mean you should."

"I did it again," Lorelai half-whispered, sounding like someone who had just done something she shouldn't have but had gotten away with it.

"Did what?" Rory asked sleepily.

"Kissed Luke," Lorelai repeated. "Again. A lot."

Rory's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because he is the most incredible kisser in the world," Lorelai said giddily. "I mean it, there should be a statue, or something, and if you weren't my daughter and way too young for him I would tell you to kiss him as well, because it was so fantastic, so rock-my-world- ew, I can't believe I just said that- but I swear, when he-"

"Okay, stop right there," Rory pleaded. "I caught the live-action version earlier, which already made me want to gouge out my eyeballs, so please spare me the details that will make adding 'puncture my own eardrums' to my self-mutilation to-do list sound like a good idea."

"Sorry," Lorelai apologized. "It's just- this is so, wow, and I feel like- like I could jump off the Empire State building and not even ruin my shoes, oh my God I can't even remember ever feeling like this, and I don't know how to calm down!" She pulled in a huge breath to make up for all the oxygen she'd just expended, and she noticed her hands were shaking. This was too much- wobbly knees and shaking hands, what was wrong with her?

Rory smiled at her mother's elatedness and leaned forward to hold her hands- she'd noticed them shaking, too. "This is unbelievable," she agreed. "You and Luke."

"Me and Luke," Lorelai repeated, laughing giddily. "Me and Luke, me and Luke, me and Luke- it sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Very good," Rory said reassuringly. "So what happens now?"

"I guess I need to talk to him," Lorelai reasoned. "There's a lot to figure out."

"You haven't talked to him?" Rory said in amazement. "You've been gone for hours, what were you doing?" The second she asked she realized she probably didn't want to know the answer.

"Not talking," Lorelai answered sheepishly.

"Mom!" Rory protested.

"Hey, a lady never kisses and tells," Lorelai explained condescendingly. "Although I guess I'm not a lady, since I tried to tell you but you had an apoplexy so I couldn't."

"Keep it that way, would you?" Rory requested.

Lorelai merely smiled and kissed her forehead. "You should go back to sleep, because I'm going to wake you up at five in the morning so I can be at the diner the second it opens."

"Get out," Rory ordered her mother, horrified. "He's your Luke, why do I have to get up?"

"Because you love me," Lorelai answered cheerfully on her way out of the room.

"Remind me of that tomorrow morning when I want to kill you," Rory muttered as she rolled over and switched off the light.

* * *

"_You can't hurry love, no you just have to wait…"_

Lorelai frowned in her sleep, dismayed that someone with no vocal talent was heartlessly murdering a classic Supremes song. Had they no shame?

"'_Cause love don't come easy, it's a game of give and take…"_

The music was getting louder, and Lorelai was horrified to realize, as she reluctantly woke up, that it was coming from her room.

"How long must Luke wait? How much more can he take? Before loneliness, will cause his poor heart to break?"

"Gah!" Lorelai opened her eyes and glared at her daughter, who was cheerfully singing off-key not twelve inches from Lorelai's face.

"I really, really want to throw this pillow at you," she indicated, "but it's the only thing I have to block out your singing."

"Tough dilemma you got there," Rory commiserated, straightening up and folding her arms. "Time to get up, sunshine."

Lorelai rolled over and squinted at her furry purple alarm clock. "It's ten o'clock in the morning!" she exclaimed. "It's ten o'clock on a _Saturday_ morning. Who are you, you evil sadist? You can't be my daughter, because my daughter knows better than to wake Mommy up on a Saturday morning. Mommy gets very cranky when you wake her up!"

"Mommy has forgotten that this isn't just any Saturday morning," Rory matched her mother's sarcastically condescending tone. "This is the Saturday morning after the Friday night that happened yesterday. Luke happened yesterday, and you said you wanted to be at the diner at five AM. Don't shoot the messenger, Cruella."

"It's five o'clock?" Lorelai sat bolt upright in bed.

"No, it's ten. I thought we already established that," Rory replied, exaggeratedly patient.

"It's ten? But I wanted to be at the diner at five! Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Lorelai demanded.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Because you're grumpy early in the morning!" she complained. "And apparently easily confused."

"I have to get up," Lorelai shoved back the covers and jumped out of bed. "Be a good girl and go make Mommy some coffee."

"We're going to Luke's," Rory pointed out.

"So?"

"So, he has coffee, remember? It's really good coffee, too- you've made up numerous songs about how good the coffee is-"

"Rory, I can't go to Luke's without having at least one cup of coffee," Lorelai explained, as if it were perfectly obvious. "I'm not presentable until I've been properly caffeinated."

Rory grinned. "Okay, okay, one cup o' joe, coming right up." She headed out the bedroom door, but she didn't even make it to the stairs before her mother called in a pathetic voice, "Rory?"

Rory turned around with a sigh and stuck her head back in her mother's room. "Yes, my lady?"

"I don't know what to wear."

"Wear what you usually wear when we go to Luke's," Rory advised.

"But I don't usually go to Luke's after making out with him the night before," Lorelai whined.

"Details!" Rory complained loudly and clamped her hands over her ears. She wasn't mad- one look at her mother, all nervous and excited, and she was back in Sister Suffragette mode.

"It's probably best for the both of you guys if you act like everything's normal," Rory suggested, going over to root through the closet. "Just because you- you…" she had trouble saying it, but Lorelai quite willingly helped her.

"Kissed, snogged, made out, locked lips, played tonsil hockey-"

"Doesn't mean that you aren't still friends," Rory finished loudly, mentally erasing all the unwelcome images that had just invaded her brain with Lorelai's words.

"So I can look good, but I shouldn't look like I'm trying to look good?" Lorelai wondered.

"Exactly," Rory said, relieved that the snogging litany was over. She emerged from the closet with a pair of jeans and a green shirt. "Here, wear the B-52s."

"No!" Lorelai said quickly.

"No to the B-52s?" Rory said in amazement.

"No, not no to the B-52s, no to the B-52s shirt," Lorelai explained. "I can't wear that."

"Why on earth not?" Rory demanded, a tad irritated. She was hungry, and she hadn't had any coffee, either.

"That's the shirt I was wearing the first time I met Max," Lorelai said uncomfortably. "I can't wear that to the diner, with Luke being there and everything."

"Oh." It was perfectly understandable to Rory, but she was curious about one thing. "Why didn't you put it in the Max Box?"

Lorelai pouted. "Because I love my B-52s shirt," she said piteously. "And someday I'll wear it again, just not today. And not anywhere near Luke."

"All right, bye-bye, B-52s," Rory said, resigned. "But hurry up and get dressed, will you? I'm starving, and Luke's is always busy on Saturdays at _lunchtime_."

Lorelai giggled. "Looks like my super, futuristic clothing power already wore off, huh?"

"Looks like," Rory agreed, disappearing back into the closet.


	9. There'll BE a Funeral

**There'll _Be_ a Funeral, 'Cause I'm Putting a Hit out on Kirk**

They walked to town, Lorelai feeling distracted but looking fabulous. Rory had assumed complete and utter autocratic control when Lorelai had pulled a cocktail dress out of her closet and looked like she was seriously contemplating wearing it to breakfast. She was now dressed in the previously-agreed upon jeans, and a white long-sleeved cotton shirt over a bright blue top. It was a compromise- not as casual as normal Saturday-morning wear, but not too dressy, either. Rory was willing to bet all the money she had in the bank- no, scratch that, she didn't have any money in the bank- make it all the money her _grandmother_ had in the bank, that Luke had not experienced a similar wardrobe crisis this morning. It was always up to the girls, she thought ruefully. Luke would be dressed in his 'uniform'- plaid shirt, backwards-blue-baseball hat, and all. There was a slight possibility that he might have shaved, but Rory seriously doubted it.

Lorelai's steps were definitely slowing as they turned onto Elm, so Rory glanced about for a conversation topic to distract her from her nervousness.

"It looks like the whole town has really gotten on board with your whole, black-Goth theme for the Springtime festival," she remarked, noticing half-a-dozen townsfolk decked out in black shirts.

"Huh," Lorelai replied absentmindedly.

"What is with that?" Rory continued determinedly. "Is there a funeral? Did somebody die and we missed it? Or maybe there's a black-wearing holiday we don't know about…"

They had crossed the town square and Lorelai was quite obviously not listening- or looking, either, as Rory had to perform emergency maneuvers to keep her from walking out in front of a car. Safely across the street (using the first and only pedestrian crossing at the first and only stoplight in town) they stood in front of the diner and waited.

"So…do we go in?" Rory pressed carefully.

Lorelai took a deep breath. "We go in."

She opened the door and entered Bedlam, stepping aside just in time to avoid Andrew as he barreled out the door, followed closely by Taylor who was yelling something that to Rory sounded alarmingly like "should be censored!" Every table was full, even the one in the far corner that Kirk always insisted was directly under a draft of "There's No Place Like Home" proportions.

Rory ducked under an arm wielding a coffee pot- not Luke's- and weaved through the crowd to snag two seats at the counter. Lorelai followed, feeling her knees go wobbly again and like she was about to throw up. _Very attractive, _she thought fatalistically_, but at least Rory's here to hold my hair back._

They sat down just as Luke exited the storage room, carrying a large brown box full of paper napkins. He stopped abruptly when he saw them.

"Lorelai!" the box of napkins hit the floor.

"Luke, hi," she gulped. "I didn't expect to see you. Well, that's not exactly true, of course I expected to see you, it's your diner- at least that's what the sign outside says…well, actually, one of the signs says William's Hardware, but everybody important knows that it's really Luke's Diner, and you're Luke, and it's your diner, so of course you would be here, I just didn't expect to see you right…there."

He smiled awkwardly- there was no response to that ramble- and stood self-consciously for a moment before he bent down to pick up the box he'd dropped. Rory noticed his head when he stood back up.

"Hey, where's your hat?" she demanded in surprise.

"Cesar dropped an egg on the floor," he explained briefly, turning to start a new pot of coffee.

"Oo-kay…" Rory looked at Lorelai so they could exchange raised-eyebrows-and-skeptical-smiles expressions, but she was fiddling with the strap on her purse, avoiding looking at Luke.

He turned back to the counter, taking the cover off the Danish stand and placing two on two plates, just to have something to do.

"Cesar dropped an egg on the floor," he repeated, "so I got down to clean it up, and then he dropped another egg on my head. Well, not actually my head, my hat, which is why it's in the kitchen sink and my head's out here, with no hat."

Rory smiled. Obviously Luke was pretty flustered too- and he had shaved, after all.

"That's a relief- I thought maybe you'd suddenly decided to stop wearing it, and I'm sure that would cause a rip in the space-time continuum," she teased.

"Nah, it'll be back tomorrow," he promised. "It's a great hat." He looked deliberately at Lorelai, who managed to meet his eyes and smile shyly. She'd bought him that hat three years ago for Christmas, and she'd hardly ever seen him without it since.

_Another thing to add to the list of 'Haven't You Clued In to How He Feels About You Yet'_, she thought guiltily. She started to speak, to tell him that she thought it was a great hat too, and it matched him because he was a great guy, but Kirk suddenly appeared at her elbow, making her jump.

"L-O-R-E-L-A-I," he spelled. "Is that correct?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, annoyed that he'd interrupted. She hadn't actually been saying anything, but he'd interrupted the process, and she had a feeling that the process was going to be very important with Luke. She glanced at Luke, who suddenly looked very uneasy and started wiping down the counter. It made sense that he was uneasy- this was Kirk, he made everyone uneasy.

"Your name," Kirk explained. "L-O-R-E-L-A-I."

"Yes, that's correct," she answered impatiently.

"Good, that's a relief," he exhaled loudly. "Not that I could have done anything about it now anyway, but it's a weight off my mind, let me tell you!"

"Why do you need to know how to spell my name?" she asked suspiciously. She swiveled round to face him directly. "Kirk?"

Proudly he held open his jacket, and she gasped. "Holy Mary Chapin Carpenter," she said weakly. "What- how-"

"I've reinstated my daily bulletin town t-shirts business," he announced. "And it's much more successful this time. I'm making a fortune; I love being an entrepreneur. It's all in the marketing, making the product available to the people-"

"Actually, I think it has more to do with the headline," Rory said in a strangled voice, looking over Lorelai's shoulder.

Lorelai nodded dumbly. "The headline," she repeated, feeling like her head was disconnected from her body. She couldn't stop staring at Kirk's chest- how was _that_ for a disturbing thought- but there, printed on a black background in simple white letters, were the words '**luke and lorelai made out**.'

"Guess there was a black-wearing holiday after all," Rory said lamely. "It must be national Lorelai Finally Gets It day."

"Not helping," Lorelai told her through gritted teeth. She forced herself to look at Luke, who was scrubbing the counter like his life depended on it.

"Did you know about this?" she asked in a high, uncontrolled voice.

"Yep," he answered shortly. "Tried to stop him- bought everything he had this morning, but the damn fool just went out and made more."

"So you're single-handedly responsible for the financial success of the luke-and-lorelai-made-out shirts?" she hissed, horrified.

"Not intentionally," he said defensively.

Lorelai tried to look surreptiously around at the other patrons in the diner, who all looked back at her quite unabashedly. Now she realized why everyone had been staring at her on the trip into town; she hadn't really been paying enough attention to figure it out then, but the message was coming through loud and clear now.

"Everyone knows?" she questioned Luke, wide-eyed.

"_Everyone_ knows," he confirmed reluctantly. "I've got a list a mile long of inappropriate and suggestive things that Patty's said to me since she got here twenty minutes ago, and if Patty knows-"

"Everyone knows," Lorelai finished dizzily. "Everyone knows," she repeated, turning to Rory.

"Well, is that really so bad?" Rory asked reasonably. "People were bound to find out eventually- you weren't going to keep it a secret forever."

"Not forever- but twenty-four hours might have been nice!" Lorelai was still stunned; even the sudden loud, apocalyptic-sounding crash that came from the kitchen didn't shake her.

"Oh, no," Luke muttered, shooting a quick, worried glance Lorelai's way before disappearing into the back.

"I need coffee," Lorelai said, shaking her head. Luke was gone, so she marched back behind the counter and poured herself a cup. She downed half of it at once and felt much better- or at least, less likely to have a very public meltdown in the middle of the diner.

"It's going to be okay, Mom," Rory said reassuringly. She held out her own cup. "Coffee for your loving daughter?" she asked sweetly. Automatically Lorelai filled it.

"It's going to be okay," she repeated, taking a deep breath. "Que sera, sera, right? I can't do anything about it, so I'll just have to work with this." She glared at Kirk, who had left the counter and was busy conducting a brisk t-shirt trade at one of the tables. "I'd like to work _him_," she muttered, vaguely threateningly.

"It's sort of funny, when you think about it," Rory giggled. "I mean, do you think he was sitting out there all night? In the cold, with a pair of binoculars and a telescope?"

"Oh, god, Rory, don't even go there," Lorelai said vehemently. "It's bad enough that Kirk knows- and hence, the entire town- but I really don't want to think about _how_ Kirk knows."

"He's quite the voyeur," Rory commented teasingly, but shut up immediately at her mother's look. "Sorry."

Lorelai grabbed the coffee pot from where she'd left it on the counter and replaced it, then turned around- and smacked directly into Luke. She grabbed onto his arms to regain her balance. He managed to set the two full plates he'd been carrying down before he demanded, "What did I tell you about coming behind the counter?"

"That you're very thankful I do it because you appreciate the help?" she offered hopefully.

"Lorelai…" he said warningly, but broke off before he could finish. He'd just realized that she was still holding him, and that he was standing very, very close to her.

"I, uh," he said, intending it to be some kind of excuse and permission for her to escape, if she wanted to.

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. Blue, just like hers. "Everyone knows," she whispered. She raised her face slightly. Neither of them noticed the sudden absence of noise in the diner- everyone may have known, but everyone was still watching.

Luke swallowed hard. "Oh, what the hell," he murmured, and let his lips touch hers.

Immediately she slid her arms around his waist and kissed him back, and he pulled her as close as he could, marveling that she let him do this, that she wanted him to do this. After a long moment the sounds of rain managed to penetrate through Lorelai's mind, and slowly it got louder until she realized that it wasn't raining- people were clapping and hooting, and that long, loud, shrill scream was Babette whistling approvingly with two fingers in her mouth. Luke and Lorelai pulled apart, but he didn't let her go.

"Boy, you're good at that," she said breathlessly, leaning her forehead against his. He laughed- she still managed to surprise him, even after all this time. He hugged her gently before clearing his throat and stepping back. He was blushing furiously as he looked round the diner, meeting incredulous stares with determination.

"Hey, this is _my_ diner," he declared loudly. "This is my diner, and I'll kiss anyone I want to in it!"

"And behind the counter, too," Rory murmured mischievously. "I'm positive that the health inspector would have something to say about _that_."

Luckily Luke didn't hear her, but Lorelai did, and she reached over the counter and smacked her lightly across the forehead. "Shut up, you," she said sternly, but she didn't really mean it, and the threat had absolutely no credibility because she was grinning like an idiot.


	10. Luncheons, Laundry, and Other L Words

**Luncheons, Laundry, and Other L-Words**

One week later Emily Gilmore sat at her little desk in the front parlor and talked to her day planner. At least it seemed like she was talking to her day planner, since that's what she was looking at, but Lorelai allowed to herself that there was a slight possibility that the words were actually aimed at her.

"So next Sunday you and Rory will come to the Library Association's luncheon," Emily instructed. Lorelai grimaced; she'd had to make an unavoidable stop at the Gilmore residence because she'd left her scarf the night before at dinner, and it looked like Emily wasn't going to let her escape without losing an eye or agreeing to attend another social event- maybe both.

"Well, we'll try, Mom- you know how much Rory loves libraries- but don't get your heart set on it. We're so busy these days, with school and work, you know…" it was the lamest excuse ever, she decided, and she wouldn't even tell Rory about it because it would be too humiliating. Where was her creativity, her stock answers she had filed away, ready to whip out the moment her mother mentioned the word 'schedule'? She pondered and came to the conclusion that she'd been careless. She'd been ignoring Fate too much recently, not paying Her enough respect. She'd been so happy, truly, unbelievably happy for the last seven-days-fourteen-hours-and-eleven-minutes since she'd kissed Luke, and Fate obviously didn't like it. Fate was a force to be feared, to be treated with caution and deference, and now Lorelai was going to pay for her disobedience through Fate's evil minion, Emily Gilmore.

"Of course you'll come, Lorelai, you can spare two hours to support a worthy cause, and Rory will love it," Emily was firm. Personally Lorelai had a different opinion on Rory's feelings of the situation, but with a supreme effort she remained quiet. Better to let Fate win this one, bow out gracefully, wave the white flag- and prepare fiercely for the next encounter.

"We'll work it in," she told her mother reluctantly, but she couldn't help adding, "At least I won't have to worry about losing the money to feed us by not working that day- you said there'd be lunch, right?" _One little jab at Fate now won't make much of a difference_, she thought as she edged towards the door.

"Good," Emily said, satisfied. "And bring Luke."

Lorelai felt the blow like a fist to her stomach. "L-Luke?" Damn Fate and her cruel unforgiving ways. "Why would I bring Luke?"

"Because you're in a relationship with him, and it is now appropriate that we see him socially," Emily said condescendingly, as if everyone knew. Which was funny, since Lorelai was pretty sure she had _not_ shared that headline with her mother.

"What makes you think I'm in a relationship with Luke?" Lorelai argued, completely unconvincingly.

"I'm your mother, Lorelai, much as you try to deny it. I know these things."

"Wow, those are some pretty incredible powers you got there," Lorelai joked half-heartedly. Emily _knew_- there was no way on earth, short of her mother suddenly being struck by lightning which would reduce her IQ to Jessica Simpson's level, that she was going to be able to talk herself out of this one.

"Well?" Emily just looked at Lorelai, an insufferable know-it-all expression on her face. She knew that she'd been right about Luke and Lorelai, and Lorelai hated that she was right almost as much as she hated that Emily _knew_ she was right.

"Well, beware, young Jedi, lest the strength of your powers seduce you and lead you to the dark side," was her only response. No way she was having a heart-to-heart mother-daughter thing about Luke. _No way_.

Emily ignored her comment and plowed on mercilessly. "Do you love him?"

"What?" Lorelai couldn't believe what she was hearing. First, she didn't think her mother had the word 'love' in her vocabulary, and second, _what?_

"Do you love him," Emily repeated, a small smile on her face.

"Who?" Lorelai decided to play dumb, confuse her prey, then make a break for it.

"Luke," Emily said impatiently.

"Skywalker?" Lorelai clarified. "Not really- I mean, I kind of had a thing for him way back in the eighties, but he really wasn't my type. Too short, kissed his sister, that kind of thing."

"You don't know yet," Emily realized, smiling softly but superiorly and tapping her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Never mind. I do."

* * *

Lorelai didn't think about her mother's words as she drove into the center of Hartford ten minutes later. She didn't think about it as she found the address for the laundry company that did the sheets, pillowcases, towels, and tablecloths for the Inn. She didn't think about it as Julio explained for the third time that the delivery-van guy had had an accident, which put not only the delivery-van guy out of action for a while, but the delivery van as well. She didn't think about it as she settled the bill, getting 25 percent off for picking up the order herself and multiple thanks, and she didn't think about it as she watched two rather cute guys load the linen into the back of the jeep.

She spent thirty minutes in the car on the way home not thinking about it, and all that it entailed. She couldn't believe that Emily knew already- how in the name of Alanis Morrisette had she found out so quickly? She had been careful in the two phone conversations she'd had with her mother not to mention Luke, even in a non-romantically-related way. She'd sworn Rory to secrecy before dinner last night, and obviously she herself hadn't told anyone.

_My mother is a mind reader_, she finally decided, exhausted from the guessing game she was playing and determined not to think about it anymore. _She used the L-word_, her inner voice reminded; she then berated herself for thinking about it again. _I can't believe she used the L-word. Why, oh _why_, would she use the L-word? _I_ haven't used the L-word. I haven't thought about the L-word. Okay, that's so not true, of course I've thought about the L-word, it's Luke. It's Luke, and he's wonderful, and kind, and generous, and honest, and loyal, (and gorgeous, by the way), and considerate, and always there. He's also pretty handy with a hammer (dirty!) and a coffee pot, he makes a mean stack of pancakes, he takes care of Rory, he gives me advice even when I don't want it, he'd do anything for me. For us. Do I… the L-word… him?_ Frustrated, she hit the steering wheel. _How am I going to tell him, if I ever figure it out, if I can't even say it to myself? Do I…lo…do I…lov…do I…_love_ him? Man, what a question. A loaded, double-barreled, forty-four caliber question. And isn't it too soon to be thinking about not thinking about this? Luke and I are dating. Luke and I have been dating for a week. One week. Seven days. Yeah, and I've known Luke for seven years. That's plenty of time to figure out if you love somebody, right? You know absolutely everything about the person- well, that's not really true in this case, but the CIA couldn't get everything out of Luke- and you figure that the stuff that's going to drive you crazy is already driving you crazy, but you can live with it. We're already friends. That's a pretty solid foundation right there, Bob Vila…and we figured out pretty damn quick that the physical side of the relationship works, too_. She promptly lost her train of thought, her mind slipping back into daydreams and memories of that first night- after they had had dinner, as per Luke's insistence. She grinned. 'Having dinner' had instantly become a euphemism for the after-dinner activities, and that had turned out to be a five-star restaurant.

She had never, ever, had to think about this before. There had only been two guys, in her entire life, that the problem could even relate to. One- Christopher, and that was easy. Of course she loved him, he was her daughter's father. So she didn't _love_ love him, like want to marry him love him- at least, not anymore, but she didn't have to think about whether or not he fit in the list of Top Ten People That I Would Rescue From a Desert Island. Two- Max. Max…that was a painful subject. She didn't have to think about whether or not she loved him, because at the back of her mind she had always known she didn't, even before Luke built her that chuppah and it had belatedly hit her that if she married Max she would always be married to Max, and uh-oh, maybe she didn't want that after all. The chuppah made her think of Luke, and she was back to the L-word dilemma. Not the L-word the Showtime drama, the other one. But it was scary to think about it, and she didn't want to think about it, so she didn't think about it, all the way home.


	11. On a Scale of One to Ten

**On A Scale of One to Ten**…

Luke arrived for the Saturday night Two-Lorelai Movie-Marathon at eight, bearing two enormous bags of take-out from the diner, and coffee, for the junkie whose mental and emotional health he was now largely responsible for. He rang the bell, hearing footsteps thundering down the stairs as Rory opened the door.

"Luke! Thank God, I'm starving!" she greeted him, grabbing the food and dashing into the kitchen, leaving the door open as an informal invitation to come in.

"Hi, Rory, nice to see you, too," Luke remarked dryly to the empty hallway. A second later it was no longer empty, as Lorelai bounded down the last three stairs and skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Hi," she said shyly, putting all thoughts about not thinking about _it_ from her mind.

"Hi," he replied awkwardly, shifting slightly and placing her coffee on the cabinet by the door.

"Brownies!" Rory exclaimed happily in the kitchen.

"Yeah, they were left over, I thought you would appreciate them," Luke called back, smiling resignedly at Lorelai.

"_Yes_! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we love Luke Danes!" Rory crooned.

Luke shook his head and raised his eyebrows at Lorelai.

"Well, there's a couple other reasons, too," she answered his unspoken question, acutely aware of the coincidental wording that immediately got her not thinking again. _So_ _not the time to be doing this_, she instructed her treacherous mind. _Be light, airy, witty_.

"Really," he said, intrigued.

She pointed to the large paper cup on the cabinet. "Coffee."

"Ah." He told himself he wasn't disappointed by her flip response. After all, he hadn't expected her to say it; it had only been a week, maybe he didn't even expect her to feel it, yet. He didn't know why he didn't say it. _He_ felt it. And he was used to feeling it and not saying it. In all his many and varied encounters with Lorelai Gilmore, he'd always been a sort of passive, reactionary player. He never took the initiative- he realized that now, staring at her, years of memories flashing before him. It was always Lorelai who would do…something…then he'd respond. It seemed as if he were always waiting, waiting for her to set the example, waiting for her to give permission, in a way. It was always she who would hug him, or demand to know the status of his private affairs; she who would invite him to movie nights or order him to repair one of the many fix-it-jobs around the house. And it had been she who had kissed him, first. He had no idea what would happen if he upset the pattern, if he said it before she did. It scared him, so he said nothing. Again.

Lorelai paused for a minute. They still didn't have the hang of this greeting thing, yet. They'd seen each other this morning at the diner- she winced as she remembered that they didn't have the hang of the public greeting thing yet, either- so it had been several hours. She really needed to know the scale- how many hours in between interactions to how intense the second interaction was supposed to be. Like, after one hour, a smile and a wave would suffice? Two hours, a tender touch on the arm? Three hours, a peck on the cheek, and four hours, some serious smooching? She did a mental calculation- it had been ten hours; which was off the charts, so probably they should be in bed right now. Unless the scale peaked at four hours, and ten hours was stand-awkwardly-in-the-hallway-for-a-really-long-time. She frowned. She really wanted to kiss him, so screw the scale.

Quickly but awkwardly she put her arms around his neck, before the moment could get any more uncomfortable.

"Hi," she said again, only this time in a way more appropriate for a woman greeting her significant other than for a four-year-old child who'd just bounced down the stairs.

"Hi," he said back, something like relief in his face and desire in his voice.

She smiled up at him, loving the thrill that shot through her when he spoke to her like that. This was easy, when she didn't let herself think about it too much. No thinking, no analyzing, no second-guessing, just- _knowing_. She wasn't consciously aware of either of them making the first move, her stretching up or him leaning down, but suddenly his warm, perfect lips had captured hers, and as she melted against him she stopped being conscious of anything. She pressed herself closer to him, gently tangling her fingers in the inch of curly hair under the brim of his backwards baseball cap, feeling his arms encircle her and hold tightly. Her only semi-coherent thought was, _so this is what happens after ten hours_, and then a moment later, _I…like…ten…hours…_

"Get a room," Rory ordered sternly as she passed by on her way to the living room, loaded down with all kinds of junk food that would probably cause all kinds of health problems in her future. The words came out slightly muffled, as she was carrying a bag of chips between her teeth. She paid no attention to Luke and Lorelai doing a good impression of Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt at the end of _What Women Want_, and unconcernedly yelled back over her shoulder, "But not this one! This room is reserved for movie-watching and junk-food-eating purposes only. In fact, you will be asked to state your business at the door, and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of Gilmore law."

Luke pulled away from Lorelai, embarrassed, but she tightened her arms around him and pulled him back, murmuring breathlessly, "Maybe if we ignore her she'll go away…"

"Luke!" Rory's voice interrupted again. Wickedly she demanded, "Did you come here to suck face with my mother, or watch a G-rated movie in which beings of disputed existence help a fictional baseball team learn how to hit a ball with a stick?"

"Don't answer that," Lorelai said in a low voice, noticing how completely horrified he looked that Rory had said "suck face." Obviously the moment was over, so resignedly she released him. Her eyes lingered on his, and she knew he was feeling what she was feeling- excited, exhilarated, happy, and maybe just a teeny bit frustrated with a certain person's certain offspring. She turned toward the living room.

"Hey, there's nothing in the rule book about making out with your boyfriend on movie night," she complained to Rory, contemplating locking Rory in her room and feeling completely justified in doing so.

"Oh, yes there is! Number seventeen!" Rory countered, long-distance.

"Argh! Why did I teach you to count?" Lorelai demanded as she came into the room, tugging Luke along by the hand. He still looked embarrassed; this was only the second movie night he'd attended in his official capacity as Lorelai's Luke, and he still wasn't sure how to act around Rory. She seemed to be taking the relationship really well- she'd welcomed him into the Gilmore club- but then, you never knew with teenagers. Just look at Jess, for crying out loud. Luke had no idea whether to play Luke-Lorelai's-Boyfriend, Luke-From-the-Diner, Luke-Friend-From-Town, or Luke-Who-Yelled-at-the-Bully-Who-Teased-Rory-in-the-4th-Grade. He sat down on the couch when Lorelai prodded him, but jumped back up almost immediately when he realized that Rory had been demoted from her usual spot on the sofa to the floor in front of the coffee table.

"What's with you, Mr. Jack-in-the-box?" Lorelai squinted up at him from among the pillows.

"Nothing," he replied quickly, sticking his thumbs through his belt loops. "Um…are you okay on the floor, Rory? Because there's room on the couch, I'll grab a chair or something, you don't have to…" he trailed off, waving his arms in the general direction of the floor.

"She's fine, Luke," Lorelai said as she unceremoniously pulled him back down. "The couch is for grown-ups tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Watch it, you," Rory warned.

"I'm not talking to you right now," Lorelai sniffed, her nose in the air. "You interrupted us and made Luke squirmy."

"He's not squirmy," Rory lied, even though she knew he was. That 'suck face' comment might have been a little thoughtless, and she should have known better. Her mom had waited a really long time for this thing with Luke, and Luke had waited even longer. They were entitled to a little tonsil-hockey, even though it grossed her out.

"He's squirmy," Lorelai repeated.

"I'm not squirmy," the object of their conversation spoke up, sounding aggrieved that not only did he have to reject the accusation, but use the word as well.

"Okay, you're not squirmy," Lorelai let him off. "You're not squirmy, I'm not squirmy, Rory's not squirmy, although she will be if she pulls another stunt like that again…"

"Sorry," Rory's apology was short but sincere. "No more verbal commentary on the kissing situation, I promise."

"Not in front of Luke," Lorelai amended.

"Can we just start the movie?" he pleaded, desperate for a distraction.

"'Kay. And I'm fine on the floor, really," Rory returned to the original point- even without a map. Her big blue eyes peered up at him from below the mound of food on the table, and Luke realized with a sinking feeling that she did the full-on puppy-dog 'aren't I cute and don't you love me' look just as well as her mother. "I'm all set up, see?" she indicated the pile of pillows and blankets she'd made into a nest in front of the TV. "And I'm much closer to the food this way."

'If you say so," Luke shrugged uncertainly, leaning back on the couch.

"Are you comfortable?" Lorelai demanded, studying his posture with a practiced eye. "Because once the movie starts there is to be no squishing around."

"Again with the squishing," Luke muttered to himself.

"Do not take the movie-night rules lightly," Lorelai warned with an air of superiority. "If you've forgotten I'll have to go over them again."

"No squishing, no talking- anyone with the last name Gilmore excepted- no phone calls, no bathroom trips," Luke ticked them all off on his fingers, keeping his scowl firmly in place. "I got it, Lorelai."

"That's only half," she sniffed disdainfully.

"Well, I didn't memorize the rules," he sighed, exasperated.

"Well, that's rule number eleven! All rules must be memorized!" Now she was just trying to annoy him.

"No, rule number eleven is, Mom shuts up when you give her coffee," Rory corrected, giving Luke a sympathetic look.

"That one I remembered," Luke said in relief, grabbing the paper cup full of coffee that he'd brought in from the hallway and shoving it into Lorelai's hand. "Happy?" he demanded dryly.

"Ecstatic," she replied, smiling, with a look that said she was talking about more than the coffee. Luke smiled back, feeling the now-familiar somersault his stomach performed every time she looked at him like that. God, he was lucky. He settled back on the couch, supremely comfortable with a minimum amount of squishing, and laid his arm along the back.

"So, what award-winning piece of cinematography are we watching tonight?" he asked Rory as she popped a tape in the VCR.

"Angels in the Outfield," she replied, in an even voice that gave him absolutely no clue of what he was in for.

"We picked it for two very important reasons," Lorelai chimed in gleefully. "One, the unbelievably high mocking potential of Christopher Lloyd in a halo, and two, because it has something to do with baseball. That's a sport you like," she added knowledgeably.

"You know me so well," Luke teased; practically everyone in town knew he was a baseball fan.

"I do," she replied, suddenly serious, tucking her feet up onto the couch and leaning her head against his shoulder. "I do."


	12. A Work of Art, or Communism

**A Work of Art- Or Communism**

The movie was half-over before they'd made even a noticeable dent in the massive amount of disgustingly unhealthy consumables displayed on the too-small coffee table. Bags of chips- plain, ruffled, and the entire "-itos" family- marshmallows, Red Vines, pizza, chocolate, whipped cream in a can, twinkies, ho-hos, pudding, and peanut butter covered 98 percent of the available horizontal surface. As a concession to the new initiate and his freakish food tendencies, a tiny space had been reserved for vegetables, spinach dip, apple slices and cheese. A bare strip of table at least two inches wide separated the food groups; a sparse, unpopulated stretch of no-man's land that displayed eerie similarities to the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. A lone dish of pretzels from the land of Carbs 'N Calories looked like it was considering making a break for the Carrot Capital of It Must Be Good for You if it Tastes This Bad, but the celery sticks were barricading against a hostile invader.

"It's like a sculpture," Rory mused, fairly certain that her mother had made the same mental observations about the food as she had- though Rory, on the floor, was much closer and had a better view. She was in the trenches, as it were.

"The DMZ of snack food," Lorelai christened it.

"It's a work of art."

"Or of communism."

"Did you know that communism never really existed?" Rory said idly.

"Yeah, I read that once," Lorelai commented.

"Never existed?" Luke asked skeptically. "Then what do you call China? Vietnam? North Korea? The USSR?"

"Dictatorships," Rory answered calmly. "Communism, according to Marx, is supposed to be complete egalitarianism. Everyone shares everything- there are no social classes, no ownership, no leaders."

"Exactly. And, although I commune with the spirit world only irregularly- so I can't tell you _exactly_ what ol' Karl says- I'm pretty sure that his answer to the woes of the working poor is not Josef Stalin. Or Castro. Or Kim Il-sung," Lorelai added.

"But you're saying that because communism isn't exactly how Marx envisioned it, it doesn't exist," Luke argued. "That doesn't make any sense! Political theories and ideals evolve over time, so maybe what Marx was thinking about wasn't communism. Some kind of politics exist in Vietnam and the rest of those countries, and we call it communism, so, ergo, communism exists. I mean, if you're going to say something doesn't exist because it doesn't match its originator's intended goals, you might as well say that democracy doesn't really exist, either."

"Well, well, a closet debater in our midst," Lorelai observed with the straightest face she could summon up. "Luke, I don't think I have ever heard you say so much in such a short amount of time. I must really be rubbing off on you. Ooh! Dirty!"

"Okay, I think we've broken every movie night rule, especially the one about no politics unless it's a Bush joke, so- back to the movie!" Rory instructed.

"You started it," Lorelai pointed out unnecessarily.

All three turned their attention back to Danny Glover, and five whole seconds passed before they were interrupted again, this time by Luke yelling at the TV.

"Come on! There's no way that was in! What kind of ump are you? Go to the Helen Keller School of Baseball? _Geez_," he grumbled.

Lorelai winced and whispered to Rory, "Whose idea was it to let a sports expert watch a sports movie?"

"Yours," Rory answered promptly.

"Mental note- bad idea," Lorelai said forlornly. "Calm down, hon, it's just a movie," she said soothingly to Luke. "It'll all go away soon."

"I know it's just a movie," he responded irritably. "But you'd think that with all that money that Hollywood just throws around-"

"Here we go," Lorelai mumbled.

"-That they could afford to make an accurate representation of baseball. That's just common decency, people!"

"Luke?" Rory ventured. "If you're worried about an accurate representation of baseball, I'd go after the illuminated winged things whizzing around before criticizing an ump's lousy call. Just a suggestion."

"I'm ignoring the winged things and concentrating on the game," Luke retorted. "They suck."

"That's kinda the point," Lorelai piped up.

"Do they keep sucking?"

"Pretty much, until the end. Hey, let's make up a drinking game for every time the kid flaps his arms to signal he's seeing angels."

"Shoulda started earlier- I'd be drunk by now," Luke muttered, but she could see a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

He was having a good time, even if he hadn't been so hot on the idea in the first place. He'd protested that he didn't really care about movies, and that he didn't want to intrude on her special time with Rory- which earned him big points, in Lorelai's view- but he gave in very easily in the end, saying he'd do a lot worse if it meant he got to spend more time with her. Big points. And suddenly she was thinking about it again.

She shuffled closer to him and laid a tentative hand on his chest, tucking her head back onto his shoulder and closing her eyes sleepily. She and Rory had seen this movie a couple of times, but even if she'd never seen it she could predict the ending. Baseball team wins the pennant, orphaned boy gets adopted by gruff but lonely coach, everyone lives happily ever after, the end. Boy, it would be nice if life was like that. Young single mom wins the lottery and actually has more money than her snooty rich parents, gorgeous daughter (who everyone says looks just like her mother) becomes a journalist and wins the Pulitzer prize, young single mom meets young single diner-owner- and everyone lives happily ever after? Lorelai smiled dreamily, half-asleep. She'd settle for two out of three- Rory didn't really need to win a Pulitzer, it would only go to her head. She'd take the lottery- and Luke. Yes, she'd take Luke. Here she was, sitting with the two people she cared most about in the entire world, and it was perfect. She was even willing to admit that maybe her mother had been right again.

And she knew now.


End file.
